A Slytherin in Red and Gold
by Animus Wyrmis
Summary: After Voldemort, Hogwarts seems to be divided into untrustworthy Slytherins and everyone else. But when Lydia Carmichael, reluctant Slytherin, met Lyra Wood on the Hogwarts Express, the rules started to change. Eventual GryffindorSlytherin femmeslash.
1. A Slytherin in Red and Gold

Disclaimer: If Rowling owns it, I don't. If Rowling doesn't own it, I claim it. Please don't steal from me….

**A Slytherin in Red and Gold**

Chapter One: Slytherin in Red and Gold

"Do you have everything, Lydia?"

"Yes, Mum," I answered.

My father laughed. "What does it matter now, Acantha? Her trunk's already onboard and the train leaves in a quarter of an hour. There's no time to get anything else!"

"I could apparate there--" she began to say.

Noting my father's frown, I interrupted, "I've got it all, Mum. No worries."

"All right, then, dearie," my mother replied, wiping away a tear. And then, to my father, "What house do you think she'll be in, Bryan?"

"Gryffindor, of course!" he said heartily. "Just like her father." I grinned; I had been brought up on Gryffindor with a hint of Ravenclaw, and I knew which I'd be.

"Unless of course you don't work, darling," my mother cautioned with a smile. "Then you'll be placed in Hufflepuff."

"I'll work," I promised. "But I've got to go, I don't have much time left."

My parents nodded, and the three of us hugged tightly. They waved to me as I ran onto the train and into the nearest compartment. Its only occupant was a blonde girl with a pile of brightly-covered books. She sat next to the window, watching the people milling about the station.

"Hi," I said to her. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"No, go ahead. I'm Lyra Wood. It's my first year. How about you?"

" Lydia Carmichael. First year," I replied, sitting down across from her. "My parents are just under that lamp, talking to those two guys."

"Is that your dad, the white-haired one? Those are my dads he's talking to. How old is he?"

"Almost forty. He and my mum are the same age, but they don't look it at all, do they?" When she shook her head, I continued, "Why do you have two dads, anyway? What happened to your mum?"

"I don't have a mum," she said matter-of-factly. "My dads are married."

"Oh, cool," I replied.

Lyra pulled out a thick book and began to read, and I stared out the window as the train pulled out of the station. The two of us were silent until the trolley rolled by.

"Anything to eat, girls?" the plump, smiling woman asked us. We both nodded, and together managed to buy half the cart. We ate in contented silence for a while, and I opened a chocolate frog.

"Oh, Jadis _again. _This'll be the third one of her I've gotten."

"I don't have her yet. I've everyone else though," Lyra said quietly.

"You want mine?"

"Oh, could I?"

"Yeah, go ahead," I replied with a shrug, handing it over.

She grinned at me. "I don't know what to give you in return…."

I understood her dilemma. We were both well brought up witches: we had been taught to always repay debts as quickly as possible, for they collected interest. "I don't know … what do you have? It doesn't have to be big or anything."

"I'll think about it," she said, and we lapsed into silence again.

An hour or so later, Lyra asked, "Hey, do you like Quidditch? Do you fly?"

"Yes and no. I've never been confident enough to fly."

"Do you want to … I mean, I know you might not want to, but do you want to take a ride with me? My parents are getting me a Skybolt for my twelfth birthday, and I thought as a thank-you for the card you might want to go with me on it, I won't go too high, I'm a good flyer. …" She said this all very quickly, sounding nervous.

"Skybolt? Are they the same ones who did the Firebolt and Lightningbolt?"

"Yeah, but I swear this one's safe!"

After the Firebolt, the company had come out with the Lightningbolt. Its first professional use was in the first Quidditch World Cup after the war, and it threw Harry Potter off just after he caught the Snitch. Still, no one had come out with a better broom than the Firebolt, and I was amazed they were trying again.

"Sure, then, that sounds fair. When's your birthday?" I asked curiously.

"The first of May. What about you?"

"Yesterday, actually. I just barely got in … by all rights I should be starting next year."

"Happy birthday, then. You know, you don't seem like you just turned eleven."

We chatted amiably for what seemed like ages, discovering along the way that we had what Lyra called "people in common" – my godfather was her uncle, although she admitted she didn't see him very often. Then, inevitably, the question of the Sorting came up.

"Which house do you think you'll be in?" I asked her.

"Gryffindor, I guess. Both my parents were in it, and the entire family on one side too, for eons. How about you?"

"Gryffindor, probably. My dad was a Gryffindor, and my mum was a Ravenclaw, but I don't think I'm bookish enough for Ravenclaw."

"Brave enough for Gryffindor?"

"Sure. Noble's a bit much, though…."

"Noble's always a bit much. Think the Slytherins'll give us much trouble?"

"Nah. They'd not get away with it. I mean, it was Voldemort's house, and most of the Death Eaters too. They wouldn't dare; it'd be asking to get expelled."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

It was at that moment that a prefect in Slytherin robes knocked on our door. "We're almost at Hogwarts, girls. You might want to change into your robes now. Cloaks as well; it's awful weather out." I looked out the window: sure enough, the wind was blowing and it seemed to be raining.

As Lyra and I changed into our robes, we talked about the Sorting ceremony. Although between us we had four parents, five grandparents, six uncles, four aunts, one cousin, one pseudo-uncle, and one great-aunt who had been to Hogwarts, neither of us had any idea about the ceremony itself.

"D'you think they'll make us do any magic?" Lyra asked me worriedly. "I haven't been able to do a lot, just simple things."

"No, that's silly. How would that prove anything? Unless they made us all fight together, then I guess they could tell…."

"You nervous about it?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"Me too."

"Well … it can't be too bad, I guess. I mean it's not like you ever hear of anyone _dying _from it or anything," I said.

It was with this cheerful statement that we arrived at Hogwarts.

* * *

"Firs' years over here … firs' years follow me … firs' years..." The speaker was a giant of a man, with wild black hair and kind-looking eyes. I could barely hear him over the wind. Veritaserum wouldn't have made me admit it, but I was terrified, and when Lyra held out her hand, I willingly took it. We walked over to him together. He led the group of first years down to the lake, where a small fleet of wooden boats stood waiting to take us across. Lyra and I found seats, and a boy and another girl came to sit with us. When the entire group was seated, the boats began to move. We huddled into our cloaks, trying to keep the rain and spray off our already-soaked selves.

When we were finally inside the castle, a tall, lanky wizard took us from the gigantic man. "I am Professor Rufford, your deputy headmaster, head of Gryffindor House, and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he told us. "In a few minutes you will move into the Great Hall to join your housemates – but first you will be Sorted into your houses. There are four: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff," – here he seemed to pause – "and Slytherin. Your house here will be like your family. You will live together, eat together, and learn together. If you would take a few moments to warm yourselves, I will see if they are ready for you."

With those words, he left us. There was a short pause, then a flurry of activity: simple drying and warming charms, quick hair fixes, nervous laughter. We weren't quite ready when Professor Rufford called us to come into the Great Hall, but we went anyway, in pairs or threes. We approached a raised platform in front of a tattered hat on a three-legged stool, spreading out to face the hat – which began to sing, describing the four houses and their histories. The hall broke into applause at the end of the song.

"Now," Professor Rufford said, "When I call your name, please sit down and place the hat on your head, and it will Sort you." I nearly grinned in relief and squeezed Lyra's hand as he consulted a large scroll. "Adams, Caroline."

A solemn-looking girl walked up to the stool. The hat hesitated only a minute before announcing, "RAVENCLAW!"

"Avery, John."

Another minute, then – "SLYTHERIN!" I felt terrible for him.

"Bagnold, Andrew."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

" Carmichael, Lydia."

Nervously, I approached the stool and placed the hat on my head. "Ah…Lydia Carmichael, eh? Ravenclaw mother, Gryffindor father?" _Yes, that's right.. _"I remember them well. Your father, particularly, was difficult to Sort…insisted on Gryffindor in the end. But you…good mind, tendency to laziness, mm?" _You sound like my mother. _"Ah, yes, well, I do try. And you've courage, yes…but ambition as well, a good deal of it. And underneath all that… a stubborn pride, and an almost dangerous loyalty. Hufflepuff, perhaps?" _No! I will _not _be put in that house! _"Are you sure? Your aunt was a Hufflepuff—" _No one likes Hufflepuffs! I won't be one! _"No? Then it had better be—

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

A/N: "Jadis" is the name of the sorceress, White Witch, and Lady of the Green Kirtle from C. S. Lewis's _Chronicles of Narnia. _I figured she deserved a chocolate frog card. 

Amelie, Helena, Emily, and Julia have all beta-read this fic for me, and for that I love them.

Now, go hit the little review button and tell me how to make this better.


	2. Down a Black Marble Staircase

Chapter Two: Down a Black Marble Staircase

It was only my pride that kept me from screaming, crying, or fainting. Instead, I walked to the table at the far left and sat down, smiling hesitantly at my new housemates and attempting to look like I was watching the rest of the Sorting, although my body was reacting automatically. I barely heard the names of the students being Sorted, or even their houses. It was only the final name – "Wood, Lyra" – that caught my attention.

_Please be Slytherin, please be Slytherin, please be—_

"GRYFFINDOR!"

_Damn._

At that moment, the headmistress stood up. "Welcome to Hogwarts, new students. I hope you'll be happy here. I am Professor Vector, for those of you who don't know me. Now, let the feast begin!" With these words, platters of food appeared on the tables, and students began to fill their plates. I found I wasn't actually hungry and halfheartedly took a slice of bread from a nearby basket. Nibbling on it, I looked around at the table. It was much emptier than any of the others.

"Are we – always this empty?" I asked.

"No one wants to be a Slytherin," a black-haired boy across from me explained. "We're evil, you know. I'm Zach Wenlock," he added.

"Lydia Carmichael," I said, trying to smile.

"Ah, you didn't want to be a Slytherin, did you?"

I managed to shake my head.

"You'll learn," he told me. "It's better to be one of us. Pays off in the end. Have some potatoes." With that, he heaped a sickeningly large mound onto my empty plate.

* * *

The feast passed slowly enough. I drank little and ate less, waiting until I could curl up somewhere and cry. At last, the headmistress rose again. "Now that you have all eaten, I have some start-of-term notices to share with you. First years should know that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to all students. Mr. Filch has requested I remind you that magic is not permitted in the corridors between classes. Other contraband items are posted on his office door for your convenience. 

"Quidditch tryouts are to be held next week, and interested students should check with Madam Hooch as to the set times. Madam Hooch has also asked me to relay to you that the request by certain Hufflepuff students to form a cheerleading squad has been denied; further appeals on the matter must be made, in writing, to the Board of Governors.

"If House prefects would lead the first years to their common rooms, the term will begin."

We clapped politely, and then everyone began to stand. "First years over here, please," a harassed-looking young woman called to us. We shuffled toward her slowly. "This all of you? All right, then, follow carefully, please; we don't want to lose anyone." It took me a moment to realize that by "we" she meant herself and a quiet, scrawny-looking boy. They were both, I assumed, prefects.

The girl led us down several sets of staircases until we stopped in front of a blank stone wall. "This," she said clearly, "is the entrance to the Slytherin common room. It opens only by our password, which is 'Resurgemus'." At her words, a door appeared in the middle of the wall and opened outward. "In," the girl instructed, and we quickly obeyed, walking into a low-ceilinged room with dim greenish lighting and a slowly dying fire.

"Right," the girl continued. "This is the Slytherin common room. Girls' dormitories are down the black staircase. First years want the last room on the right. Boys, you're down the white staircase. I'm Amanda Wilkes, and this is Eli Rosier. We're the seventh-year prefects in Slytherin, and it's our job to make sure you lot hold up over this year, and especially over these first few weeks.

"Many of you are probably excited and ready to begin your year here. You've probably heard wonderful stories of your parents' or siblings' time here. Don't be so optimistic. I'll warn you now: the other students will hurt you. They will hate you. They will try to bring you down. We won't stop them. You're going to have to make it on your own." She paused. "Fight your own battles. Hold your own council. There is only one rule in this house, and it is this: Never apologize. The world hates us for being in Slytherin. They want us to recognize our house as a mistake or a punishment and to apologize for it. Never oblige them.

"Tomorrow you'll get your schedules and begin classes. If any of you" – here her expression turned doubtful – "are planning on playing Quidditch this year, talk to Rosier. Now, off to your rooms. Your trunks are already there."

I followed a chestnut-haired girl down the black marble staircase near the fireplace. When we reached the last door on the right, she stopped. "Here it is, I guess."

"Of course that's us," a second girl told her snappily. "Can't you read?" And sure enough, the silver plaque on the door read, in engraved script, "First Years: Carmichael, Travers, and Whisp." Pushing past us, she opened the door. "I'm Maddison Whisp," she added over her shoulder. We followed her in.

"I'm Alicia Travers," the chestnut-haired girl told me. "You'd be Carmichael?"

"Lydia Carmichael, yeah," I said, walking to my trunk. I had the bed farthest from the door and next to the sole window, which confused me: weren't we underground?

"Where does the window look out?" Alicia asked me.

"I'm not—" I began to say, but Maddison cut me off.

"It doesn't. We're underground, remember? Half the common room's under the lake; we're nearly there as well. The window's magical; it's enchanted to show people when you need it to, but normally it looks over the North Atlantic. Honestly," she said after a pause, "didn't either of you do _any _reading on Hogwarts before you came here? Never mind," she continued before we could answer, "I should have guessed."

I began to unpack, not bothering to answer her. My trunk was completely filled, but there was a cupboard next to my bed for the smaller things. I hadn't noticed my roommates following my example, but in the next hour our room began to look more like a home. Maddison had brought portraits and landscapes in silver frames, which she fastened on the walls around the room. Alicia unpacked a silver coat tree, upon which she immediately hung two hats and a cloak. "Feel free to use it too," she told us. I took out several carnivorous plants, placing them in unused corners. This earned me odd looks from my roommates.

"In case of unwanted visitors," I explained. "Besides, we've plenty of space." This was an understatement. The room was clearly meant to hold upwards of five, and there were only three of us. "Anyway, I'm done unpacking. Any ideas about which direction the bathroom's in?"

As if listening to me, a mahogany door appeared. Behind the door was a bathroom half the size of our room, complete with two large black marble bathtubs. "That takes care of that," I said with a smile.

* * *

I wrote my first letter home that night, in a comfortable leather chair near the fire. _Dear Mum and Dad, _I wrote. That was the easy bit; the hard part was also the most important. _I've been sorted into Slytherin, _I wanted to write. _I like it so far. The common room is drafty, a bit, and a little cold and dark, but that's too be expected, since we're under the lake (!). I find it rather cozy, myself. _I didn't, really. I was cold and tired and wanted my parents, and I was desperately afraid my parents would never forgive me for being sorted into Slytherin, for being…evil. 

_Dear Mum and Dad, _I began again. _I've been sorted into Slytherin. The ceremony was wonderful! I didn't realize the food here was so good (not like yours, Mum, though)._ I stopped. This was moving too quickly.

_Dear Mum and Dad, _I wrote once more. _The train ride wasn't bad, coming up. I sat with a girl named Lyra, and we talked most of the way. I gave her the last card she needed for her collection, and she's promised me a ride on her broomstick, when she gets it. I think we're going to be great friends even though we're in different houses. Your house can't make that much difference, right? I mean, the Founders were all great friends. _I read over what I had written. Somehow, it seemed wrong to me to share Lyra with my parents. She was too special, too important. And besides, I was straying from the point of the letter.

_Dear Mum and Dad, _I carefully printed. _The sorting took longer than I expected. I was so nervous when Professor Rufford called my name! And then the hat took so long with me …_

That letter was the hardest one I had ever had to write, and I used more parchment that night than I ever did at one sitting, before or after. It was long after midnight when I copied the final draft neatly onto a monogrammed sheet of parchment:

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_The train ride was fun, and not as long as I expected, and so was the ride across the lake. I was too excited (and nervous) to take in much, though, so I'm not sure what the grounds look like. I stood with another girl, named Lyra, during the sorting as Professor Rufford (he's the deputy headmaster) read the names out. I was called third or so, and the hat took so _long _to decide to put me in Slytherin! My table seemed happy to get me, though (I was the second this year), and the feast was excellent. Afterwards the prefects lead us to our common room, which is partly under the lake (!). It's a good dorm, I think. My bed's next to the window, farthest away from the door, and nearly all my things are unpacked already.…_

The letter itself was several pages long, and I ended it with a scrawled signature. I was very proud of my name, Lydia Medea Carmichael, and my signature took up a good deal of the last page. I sealed the letter with the special red wax my father had bought me and smiled sadly, more than ready to go to bed. Looking up in the middle of a yawn, I saw a grim-looking ghost covered in some silvery substance. "Er…hello, sir," I said nervously. There was no answer, but I wasn't sure I needed one. "I'm Lydia Carmichael." When he still didn't respond, I added, "I'm new this year." Still, he was silent. "I'll … just be going to bed, then," I told him, backing slowly out of the room.

When I reached my room, I related the experience to Maddison and Alicia. "Who was he? What's with the blood?" I asked.

Maddison stared at me. "Where were you during dinner? That's the Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost? We were introduced at the feast…."

"Oh," I said. "I … must not have remembered. Why's he so bloody?"

"No one knows," Alicia told me. "Anyway, it's bedtime."

The three of us changed into pajamas and got into bed. In the middle of our goodnights, Maddison suddenly exclaimed, "Oh!"

"What now?" I asked the canopy above my four-poster as Maddison jumped out of bed and muttered an incantation. Peering through the bed curtains, I saw several dozen globes of assorted colors floating near the ceiling. "Maddison, it's gorgeous. …" I murmured.

* * *

I sent my letter off with Perseus, my owl, before wandering down to breakfast the next morning. Amanda Wilkes was handing out our schedules and tersely answering questions. The entire house seemed nervous, on edge, and so much smaller than any of the others. I scanned the other tables, lingering over the boisterous and full Gryffindor table, and caught Lyra's eye, smiling hesitantly. She grinned back. Somewhat heartened, I looked down at my schedule. It took me a moment to find Wednesday's classes; I had charms first, with Professor Flitwick. As I reached for a piece of toast, what seemed like hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping letters and packages into various laps. I looked up to see a small parcel, and caught it in midair. There was a note attached; I opened that first. 

_Good morning, _ _Lydia_

_I hope you're making new friends and you're ready for your first day of classes. How's Gryffindor? Is the Tower as comfortable as it was in my day? You'll have to find time to write home and tell us about your classes and friends. I'm sure Gryffindor's as lively as it was when I was there, if not more so! Your mother wrapped up some things for you, in the parcel. I've no idea what they are, but I'm sure you needed them._

_Love,_

_Dad_

I swallowed, looking down at the page. They didn't know I was a Slytherin. That meant they wouldn't find out, unless I told them. Unless they got my letter.

I choked down my toast and ran to the Owlery as fast as I could, praying Perseus had stayed for some reason. When I finally reached the very top of the West Tower, I knew, even without whistling for him, that Perseus had already gone. I turned, and ran blindly back to my room. Flinging myself onto my four-poster bed, I buried my face in the pillow. Slytherins didn't cry. We were cunning, cutthroat, and other nasty adjectives, but we didn't cry. Hadn't John Avery said as much, when we saw a Hufflepuff girl crying last night? "Hufflepuffs are like that … not us, though, we Slytherins aren't crybabies." I made up my mind, that moment, that if I couldn't be a Gryffindor, I wouldn't even try.

I would be a Slytherin, instead.

I rolled over onto my back and lay there for only a little while, staring at the ceiling.

_I would be a Slytherin. _It was a terrible, awesome thought. A Slytherin like the Dark Lord. A Slytherin like my grandmother. The idea was enough to make me tremble. As I lay there in the semi-dark, contemplating black thoughts of my future, I had another horrible revelation: I was going to be late for my first class.

I jumped up, jamming _A Standard Book of Spells, Grade One _into my bag, already carefully packed with quills and parchment, checked to make sure I had my wand, and ran out the door.

* * *

Disclaimer: I don't own anything JKR does. I do own everything else. Don't steal, it's bad for your mental health. 

A/N: The Slytherin password is Latin for "We will rise again." My thanks to my beta readers: Julia, Amelie, Emily, and Helena. Now, review!


	3. Warnings over Blue Ink

Chapter Three: Warnings over Invisible Ink

My charms class was only Slytherins, and there were just eight of us: John Avery, who had pointed out the crying Hufflepuff; Aaron Trimble; Adrian Macnair; Evan Rookwood, who hadn't said more than two words yet; Cameron Viridian; Alicia Travers, who had the bed on my right; and Maddison Whisp, who had the one on my left. Together, we formed a small but tight group. Professor Flitwick eyed us carefully, and then said, rather gently, "How are you settling in?"

We nodded, and smiled, and agreed we were doing all right. He examined us again, as if to determine whether or not we were telling the truth, and then told us to take out our wands and begin the lesson.

It was a practical, fast lesson, and it flew by. Before I knew it, charms had ended and we were walking to our next class: flying, with Gryffindor.

I hated flying, with a passion. It didn't matter if I was on a broom or a carpet, or even a motorcycle. Heights terrified me. The idea of being hundreds of meters above the earth, only prevented from death by a flimsy piece of wood, was not one I cared to think about. So it was with great hesitation that I stood next to an ancient, delicate-looking school broomstick. Lyra Wood bounced on the balls of her feet across from me, grinning and talking animatedly with the boy next to her. I felt jealous for a moment, but that was soon eclipsed by my nervousness as I looked at my broom.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, catching our attention. "Good morning. Everyone by a broom? Good. Now, put your right hand over it and say, 'Up!' Firmly, people, be firm about it. …" She surveyed us carefully. Lyra's broom had jumped into her hand almost before she was done speaking, and several other Gryffindors had also managed it. Out of the eight Slytherins, only Maddison Whisp held hers, but as I watched, John's leapt into his hand, and – to my immense surprise – so did Alicia's. My own broomstick hadn't even moved, and I felt an odd sense of relief.

"Up!" I commanded. There was no response.

"Bloody broom," I muttered, kicking it.

"Is there a problem, Miss …?" Madam Hooch asked me, frowning.

" Carmichael. Lydia Carmichael. There's no problem."

"Oh, well … perhaps less brute force, then?"

I nodded, glaring at the piece of wood. "Get. Up. Now," I ordered. "Otherwise I shall hex you into oblivion." Shockingly, it obeyed.

"You've all got your brooms? Good. Now, mount your brooms, and on my whistle, kick off the ground, rise just a few inches, and touch back down. Three, two –" and the whistle blew.

* * *

By the end of the lesson, I could fly brief distances without touching back down in fear. This was nothing compared to either Lyra Wood or Maddison Whisp – both zoomed back and forth, apparently engaging in a series of informal races – but I was proud of myself. When I finally dismounted, John Avery grinned in my direction. "I'm thinking of trying for the team," he told me.

"What, now?"

"No! I mean, in a few years. I'd be good at it, I think."

"Modest, aren't we?"

"Of course. Anyway, you going to lunch?"

"No, I've some things to take care of. Catch up with you there?"

"Sure," he said, and ran off to catch up with the others. I pretended to examine my broom, watching Lyra finish talking to Madam Hooch. Walking past them to put the boom away, I caught bits of their conversation: Quidditch tryouts, beater, and Puddlemere United. As I came back out, Lyra ran up to me.

"You coming to lunch?"

"Sure," I said. "You were really good, today. Where'd you learn to fly so well?"

"My dad taught me. I've been flying since I could walk, practically. He flew for Puddlemere United, up until a few years ago. He coaches now, mainly."

"You trying out for your house team, then?"

"Of course! Madam Hooch said one of their beaters just graduated, and the other's a sixth year, so at least they'll know I'm around, if I don't make it."

"I thought beaters were usually the boys. …"

"No, that's just because they're usually stronger, but I can do it too, I used to practice with my uncle, on Papa's side – he was a beater here, too."

"Did he play professionally?"

"No, he left school in his…seventh year, I guess it was…and founded a joke shop."

The pieces slowly came together in my mind. "You mean … Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? That's awesome! Do you get free samples? Has he told you his secrets?"

"Yes and no," she said, laughing. "I get free stuff, sometimes – I've got a bunch of Extendible Ears – but he doesn't tell me anything, only hints. Like all the passageways here … you know there are a bunch into Hogsmeade?"

"I'd heard. My godfather used to sneak out of here all the time."

"I wish I could," she said mournfully.

"You? Straight arrow Gryffindor girl?"

"Watch it, you."

I didn't get a chance to reply. We had reached the Great Hall, and, wordlessly, we separated. There was an unwritten rule, here at school, that Slytherins and Gryffindors did not socialize. We were enemies: dark verses light, Voldemort verses Potter.

Even though the war was over. Even though we were the same, inside.

I ate fast, to insure that I would have time to run back to the common room to grab my books for Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic. I met Alicia in our room, searching her trunk for an extra bottle of erasable ink.

"I knew I should have unpacked all this last night," she grumbled.

"Want to borrow some of mine? I've plenty of the stuff."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead," I told her, rummaging through the cabinet next to my bed and tossing her a small bottle. "Blue ink okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine … anything, so long as it isn't pink. …"

I blinked at her.

"I have a little sister…it's all she'll wear, our room's in pink, she made Mum dye her _hair _pink … it's disgusting, really, I don't know what she's thinking."

"Maybe she'll improve as she gets older," I stated hopefully. "You looked good, in the air."

"Thanks. I was kind of hoping to be on the team, sometime."

"What position?"

"I don't know. Chaser, maybe; I'd like to score." She paused. "You were watching that Gryffindor … what's her name? The blonde one, Wood?"

"Yeah," I replied, trying not to sound defensive. "I like her."

"Oh. Just, you know, thought I'd warn you to be careful. Some of them don't … don't like us talking with them. You could get both of you in trouble."

"You think?"

"Yes. I don't know if they'd do anything bad, us being first years, but they might want to … inform you, I guess."

"Who're 'they'?"

"The older boys in Gryffindor. They can get away with anything, I was talking to some of the second years at breakfast, and my sister told me, too. She's a fourth year. It's not smart to get on their bad side. Just be careful, that's all I'm saying." She looked in earnest, nervously pulling at her hair.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Just think about it, right?"

"Right."

We walked to Defense Against the Dark Arts together. We were the last two to arrive, and nearly all the seats were taken. One was left next to Evan; another by Lyra. I heard Alicia's sigh as I started down the aisle to Lyra's desk.

"Seat taken?"

"No," she told me, "I was saving it for you."

Grinning, I slid into the seat and took out my book as Professor Rufford turned around to face us. I hadn't seen him clearly since the Sorting, but he looked friendly enough.

"I'm going to do the roll call. If you're here, just say 'Present' cheerfully. If not, then no one has to say anything. Avery, John?"

"Present."

"Bagnold, Andrew?"

"Present, sir."

" Carmichael, Lydia?"

"Here."

This droned on: more boys than girls, more Gryffindors than Slytherins, until he finished with, "Wood, Lyra."

"Present!" she chirped.

Professor Rufford looked up at us, looking over the students one by one. All at once his face went somewhat gray and he looked like he was about to throw up. "Please—excuse me a moment," he said abruptly, dashing out of the door.

Stories sped through the classroom: he was a Seer and had received a vision; he had just seen a Death Eater and was going to kill him; he had seen a dementor; he had seen his true love waiting outside the door.

"If my great-grandmother were still Minister of Magic, teachers wouldn't be allowed to le--" a snobby-looking Gryffindor boy announced.

"Ministers aren't allowed to meddle with Hogwarts, moron," John Avery said, cutting him off. "The last one who tried committed political suicide when he did."

I wasn't sure, but it seemed like he'd been watching Evan when he'd had his panic attack. What could Evan possibly have done? I stole a look back at him; he looked a little pale, but I couldn't see anything wrong. "What was that all about?" Lyra muttered to me.

"I have no idea … maybe he remembered something important he had to do?" I paused. "Well, he was looking at Evan—Rookwood, I mean, when he left…"

"Weird," she said, looking over her shoulder. "I wonder why?"

I swallowed. "Er, don't tell anyone?" I asked. "I don't think…that is, if it's about Evan, then I don't think everyone should know."

"'Course. I'll even swear," Lyra said, holding out her wand. We touched the tips of our wands together.

I would realize later that this was the first test of our friendship: could she keep a secret from her house, especially when said secret was known by a Slytherin?

I was to discover that she could.

* * *

A/N: If JKR owns it, I don't. If she doesn't, I claim it for my own. Don't steal, please. My thanks go to my beta readers (Emily, Amelie, Helena, Julia) for editing for me. 


	4. Bigotry Begins

Chapter Four: Bigotry Begins

Each morning, I eagerly awaited a letter from home. I was the only one in my year, it seemed, who had not received a package or even a congratulatory letter (Adrian Macnair's family had sent him cookies and a case of butterbeer). Finally, at the end of my second week at school, I saw my mother's owl swoop into the Great Hall. I quickly tore open the letter it dropped into my lap.

_Dear _ _Lydia__, (it read)_

_We received your letter. My initial thought, I must admit, was that the Sorting Hat had made some grave mistake, but Professor Vector assured me it had not. My question to you, then, is this: How have we raised you, if you can embrace the Slytherin ideals? Do you not know of the horrors committed by your kind? If you are a true _ _Slytherin_ _Lydia__, then we have failed as your parents to instill in you morality and love for truth and justice._

_I would advise you to make plans for the Christmas holidays. When I was at school, students were allowed to remain in residence. If that is no longer the case, then I recommend you make arrangements to stay with a friend._

_Your father is livid. I would not write to him if I were you. Did you have _any_ idea, _ _Lydia__, what this would do to us? Did you even give us a thought?_

_Your mother,_

_Acantha T. Carmichael_

I stared at the sheet of parchment, willing it to change. The only noticeable difference was a slightly smoky odor. As I watched, the letter began to char slightly around the edges.

Suddenly, a hand shook me roughly. "What do you think you're doing, Carmichael?" Eli Rosier asked me angrily. "'S not worth it. You're too old to show your emotions like that; someday it'll get you killed. Now, put the letter away and finish your breakfast, or you'll be late for class."

I nodded, agreeing silently. He was right, of course: Slytherin did not allow such weakness. If it did, there would be hell to pay as the rest of the world – the Light side, Potter's vast army, the faithful followers of the Boy Who Simply Would Not Die – attempted to destroy us, to punish us in retaliation for the harm they had suffered at Voldemort's hands. For I had learned, those first weeks, just how much danger my house put me in. The green and silver stripes on my badge made me more of a target than I had ever thought possible. Often the teachers could not take action against our tormentors; more often, they simply would not. And hadn't they, too, lost loved ones to the Dark Lord?

* * *

"I think I've been disowned," I told Lyra that afternoon as we walked toward the lake together. Lyra, defying all odds, had remained a true friend to me. Our houses never seemed to make any difference; in fact, we tried not to mention them. Our one tacit acknowledgment of our differences was that we never walked together in crowded places, where trouble might start up.

"Disowned?" she asked. "Why? Is that even legal?"

"I guess so. I got this letter from my mum today. Here," I said, extracting it from my cloak pocket and handing it to her, "you can read it. It's pretty self-explanatory."

She read it quickly. "She told you it was _your fault _for being _selfish_? And that she doesn't want you home for the holidays, and it reflects badly on _them_! How do they think you feel!" Lyra was seething. "Ooh, I'm so mad, I could just—just _kick _something, what was she _thinking_!"

"Probably that I was finally showing my true colors as part of the extended Black family and becoming a loyal follower of Voldemort," I replied dryly. She didn't hear me and continued her tirade.

"And that it was your fault! They both went to Hogwarts, _they _know the hat does what it wants! And it's not like Slytherins are all evil anyway, plenty of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs went over to the Dark side too! Ugh! How can you _stand _it, Lydia?"

I was surprised at her question. It hadn't occurred to me that there was anything else to do. "What else do I do? I'm their only child, so until they decide to take me back, it's not like someone's going to steal my inheritance." I paused. "Well, I suppose Harry might get it, but he's got enough, I think he'd give me some. And anyway I've got money of my own, from my grandparents. And I've a place to stay."

"But they're your parents!"

"So my dad'll rant and my mum'll rage and then they'll remember I'm their only heir and they're both getting older, and they'll remember how easily people die, and then they'll welcome me back in. It's just a question, really, of how long it'll take. And it could be worse."

"How?"

"Well…I don't know. But I like the kids in my House. And, I mean, it's not like I've embraced Muggle religion or anything—my parents would go insane."

"Why?" Lyra asked, sounding a little put out. "I'm a Christian!"

"Why? They must've known you'd be a witch, right? I mean, you're not Muggleborn, are you?"

"Would you mind if I was?" she asked me.

"'Course not, it's just that you've got wizarding parents." _I'm not like that, like most Slytherins you know about, _was what I'd wanted to say.

"Well, actually I don't know. My sister's a witch, and she's always just told me the church thing was what my mum would've wanted, and we don't really talk about it anyway. But I'm guessing somewhere in there there's Muggle blood."

"There's Muggle blood in nearly everyone, though. We'd have died out without the half-bloods."

We had reached the lake, and we sat down together by the shore. "What will you do about holidays?" Lyra asked me.

"Stay here, I guess. I don't know about the summer."

"You don't think they'll still hate you then?" Seeing my face at the word "hate", Lyra took my hand. "I'm sorry, Lydia, I didn't mean to say that, I'm sure they don't hate you. …"

I shook my head to clear my vision. I was _not _going to cry, not here, not now. "It's fine, I'm just being sure to take care of everything. It never hurts to have a Plan B, you know."

"Maybe you could come home with me."

"Your parents would let me? I'm a Slytherin, remember?" I couldn't keep all the bitterness out of my voice.

"Yeah, but you're still my friend."

"Thanks," I told her. "I might have to take you up on that. Unless … do you think the Leaky Caldron would rent rooms to eleven-year-olds?"

"Lydia Carmichael, you are _not _spending your summer in a … in a pub!" She looked completely scandalized by the idea.

"Well, why not? Harry Potter stayed there before his third year, and he was fine."

"First off, you are not thirteen years old, and you haven't defeated the Dark Lord three times, and you aren't being protected from an Azkaban-escapee—"

"He was innocent!" I interjected.

"—And you aren't the Boy Who Lived! Besides, there might be untrustworthy people there."

I was silent for a moment, trying to come up with an argument. I settled on asking, "Who's going to try anything?"

"There are still Death Eaters out there, you know. And other people who wouldn't think twice at hurting a defenseless—"

"I'm not defenseless!"

"—little girl on her own," she finished, glaring at me. "And you are so defenseless, or at least you would be against a fully-trained Dark wizard."

I sighed. "All right, I promise not to spend my summer defending myself from Dark wizards hiding in the Leaky Caldron. Satisfied?"

"Yes," she said, rather smugly.

"Anyway," I continued, figuring a change of subjects was in order, "what are you so happy about?"

"I made the Gryffindor team," she said, managing to sound modest. "I'm a beater."

"Lyra, that's great!" I cried, throwing my arms around her in a congratulatory hug. "I'm so glad, that's awesome, you'll love it! How often do you practice? Do you like the rest of the team? Do they like you?"

"We practice three nights a week, the team's so nice to me even though I'm the youngest by years, it's so great, it's like having six older siblings, just like that. And the other beater's really awesome, too."

"Ooh, do I sense a little bit of a crush, perhaps?"

" Lydia! Of course not! He's just a really nice person."

"Mm-hm."

"He is!"

"I'm not arguing."

"But you're insinuating," she accused.

"Me? Never. And anyway we're going to be late for dinner."

"Now you're just trying to change the subject. And you're wrong – dinner's over. We missed it."

"I wanted food!" I whined.

"Then let's go to kitchens and get some. The house-elves don't mind, they like giving it out."

"You're sure?"

"The rest of the team does it all the time."

We set off for the kitchens silently. Lyra seemed to know her way, confidently turning down smaller corridors and down various staircases. We walked side-by-side, shoulders nearly touching, until I heard someone approaching. She turned to me in surprise as I jumped to the side, and I shrugged. "If it's a group of older guys" – I didn't say Gryffindors, but we both knew that's what I meant – "then it's better if we're just walking alone together. Instead of together alone."

"I'm not sure I can see the difference."

"Well, alone together is like we're here alone, we just happen to be together. And together alone means we're here together, without anyone else. And that's sketchy."

As I finished speaking, the group turned the corner. I waited long enough to see the red and gold on their ties before winking at Lyra and turning down a side corridor.

* * *

Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing that belongs to JKR. Everything else is mine, though, so please don't steal it. 

A/N: Thanks to my betas – VercisIsolde, Ambika-San, Haleth Aldea, and Amelie. The reason for such a late chapter lies entirely with VercisIsolde, who took several eons to help me revise this (and the next) chapter.

Hopefully, with summer vacation almost here (four days!), I'll get chapters out more quickly. I'd like to get this pretty far along before book six comes out…

Please review!


	5. A Midnight Oath

Chapter Five: A Midnight Oath

"Avery!" I yelled across the corridor. "What do you want?" Somewhere in the last two months we had fallen into the older Slytherin's habit of only using first name when alone. We were the only house to do so.

"Your hand in marriage and half your father's kingdom would be excellent, but I'll settle for taking you to the feast tonight."

"Don't be ridiculous, Avery, no one does that for the Halloween feast."

"We could."

"Hey, Carmichael," Alicia called to me, catching up with us. "Is he asking you to go with him to the feast tonight? He's already asked me. I guess Whisp's next."

John glared at us. "Someday," he muttered, "you'll regret turning me down."

"Why?" Alicia asked him. "Are you going to be the next Malfoy or something?"

"Well, since the current heir seems to see no reason to marry…."

I was about to form a reply when Alicia murmured, "We've got company. Let's get out of here." We turned to see Andrew Bagnold smirking at us.

"Ready for tonight?" he asked John lightly.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, Halloween was the night they arrested your father, wasn't it? Threw him in Azkaban?"

"Shut up."

"Shouldn't you be in mourning? Plotting revenge? What kind of a son are you, anyway?"

"Shut the hell up, Bagnold," John muttered warningly, taking a step towards the Gryffindor.

"Avery, don't!" Alicia cried, grabbing his arm.

"What, Travers? You're trying to stop him? Wasn't your family in it too? Shouldn't the two of you be planning to kill us all and bring back You—" With a shout, John threw himself on Bagnold, and Alicia followed suit. Four or five Gryffindors jumped onto them, and I joined the fray just as Cameron, Aaron, and Adrian came running.

* * *

I don't remember much of the fight, just that it was chaotic. When Professor Vector finally waded in and pulled us apart, it seemed as though all the first years in both houses had joined in. "_What_," she asked us furiously, "is the meaning of this?" Then, turning to a nearby Hufflepuff, "Who started this!"

"Him, Professor," she said, pointing to John. "He jumped on Andrew."

"He called m—" John broke in, nursing a split lip.

"That's twenty points for starting a brawl, Mr. Avery, and another ten for inventing excuses. And the rest of you!" Her gaze turned to the Gryffindors. "Ten points apiece, for fighting in the hallways. And don't let me catch you at it again!" It was a clear dismissal; they left, presumably to compare battle scars. Vector's gaze fell on us. "And you. I should have _thought _you would have just a _little _more of an idea of—oh, nevermind. A hundred points off, and detention tonight in my office until eleven." We stared at her.

"That's not fair, you only—" Maddison started.

"Miss Whisp, I'll take another fifty. Now all of you, upstairs! Now!"

Silent, we followed her to her office on the third floor. She left us with several platters of sandwiches and pitchers of pumpkin juice, and we arranged ourselves on the carpeted floor.

"That was so unfair!" Alicia was the first to say it out loud, but soon we added our own complaints:

"She didn't even _hear _our side of it--"

"What does she think, we just go around beating up Gryffindors?"

"Damn that brat!"

"You know he was just talking, about your dad, right?"

"Let's kill him."

"Oy, shut up, people," Aaron broke in. "Has this stuff been happening other places too? I know they've been pulling stuff like this in some of my classes…."

Maddison nodded briskly. " Crowley never calls on me. Ever. And I know the answers! I know our entire astronomy book practically by heart!"

"Sprout doesn't look at me unless something starts screaming," Cameron admitted.

"And Fawcett _never _lets me do _anything_," Adrian complained.

"It makes sense," Evan said softly. We turned to stare at him. "It's sort of typical, after a war. People try and find a scapegoat, and we're just … easiest. They probably look at us and see future Death Eaters, or the Death Eaters that killed their friends and tried to destroy their lives. So they act on it. Especially the ones who couldn't do anything before, in the war. It's like they're getting their revenge now."

"But we didn't _do _anything!" Alicia objected.

"That's not the point," he said patiently. "They don't see _us, _they see Slytherins. Death Eaters. Killers. And they probably tell themselves we deserve it or that they're just trying to stop us or something." He shrugged. "I never said it was right."

We were silent for a minute, digesting this. Then Evan spoke again: "The only way to stop it is to be better than them. They think we're violent; we have to be … more peaceful than Quakers. And they think we hate Muggles; we have to be more accepting than anyone. They think we—"

"But that's stupid!" Cameron broke in. "Nothing we do will change anyone's mind._ I _say we just do it. If they think we're terrible … well, then, let's _be _terrible."

"What are you saying, Cam?" Maddison asked sarcastically. "That we should join Vo— the Dark Lord and torture Muggles? 'Cause that's going to get us in Azkaban. Some of us faster than others."

"No, I'm saying we make her life hell. I say we make _all _their lives hell."

"Let's swear it," Aaron suggested to him. "You and I, and anyone else who wants to. Let's swear to wreak havoc on the Gryffindors, on Vector, and anyone else who deserves it. Let's swear to preserve the name of Slytherin forever."

Adrian looked up, eyes eerily aglow in the light from the fire. "It's Halloween tonight," he said. "The rest of the school's at the feast. Whoever's going to swear should do it now."

"How?" Maddison asked. "You can't just swear, it has to be by something."

Adrian smiled. "There's an oath my father taught me. It's very, very powerful. Once you swear it, you can _never _break it."

"What is it?" Alicia asked. "It's not like— blood or anything, right?"

Adrian shook his head. "You have to swear by our line, our tradition. It's the same oath Salazar swore when he left Hogwarts and promised to always protect us." We looked blankly at him. Only John looked vaguely nervous. "Here," he continued, "I'll swear first. Then you can follow. Change it to suit."

He cleared his throat. "I swear, by the day of my birth and the day of my love's death, to preserve the House of Slytherin forever and to keep it as pure as the blood spilled to form this sacred House and the blood spilled to keep it alive and as pure as the blood running through my veins. Should my life be taken in the process I shall think of it as an honor. If I should break this oath, let the day of my birth never dawn and the day of my love's death fall before the next new moon. All those here remember this oath and hold me to it." He looked around at us. "Any oath you swear tonight has more power. Who's next?"

Cameron looked at Aaron. "You suggested it. Let's swear together. As partners."

Aaron nodded. "I'm cool with that. You want to start it? Or do we swear at the same time?"

"No … you swear whatever you think is right, and I'll add to it if I can, then we'll both say the oath part."

Aaron looked around at us nervously. "Okay," he said, "I'll start.

"We swear to— to wreak havoc on all the Gryffindors who jumped us today, especially Bagnold, and to make Vector look at us as people, actual people, and not just Slytherins. And we promise to make everyone remember us, forever." He looked at Cameron.

Taking a deep breath, Cameron added, "We swear also to be like brothers, and to never desert each other." Then he looked back at Aaron, and they finished the oath together.

"And we swear this all by the— the days we were born and the days our loves will die. If we should break this oath, let the first never come and the second come soon."

Alicia looked at us. "I want to swear something too."

"Go ahead," Adrian told her.

She closed her eyes and began. "I swear to always do anything I can to help the Slytherin House and any Slytherin who needs it, especially the ones in the room with me now. I swear this by the day of my birth and of my love's death – if I break this oath, may the former never dawn and the latter come within the next full moon."

We heard a low boom of thunder and Evan jumped to shut the windows. I pulled him down again. Let her office get soaked. What did we care? John looked at the clock. "It's after ten. Are we supposed to stay here all night? 'Cause I'm sure not going to."

"We can't just leave—" Maddison started.

"Well, why the hell not?" I asked, cutting her off. "Vector's probably at the feast. Who cares about waiting for her? It'll probably be half the night before she's back."

"Well, I'm not leaving!"

"Fine," I said. "You don't have to."

"Wait, no," John broke in. "We stick together. Either everyone stays, or everyone goes." He looked at the two of us. "We're Slytherins. We stick together, no matter what. Got it?"

* * *

Disclaimer: It's all mine! All of it! JKR's just saying she owns Harry Potter… 

:sighs: I can dream, can't I?

A/N: Thanks to my betas: VercisIsolde, Ambika-San, Haleth Aldea, and Amelie. I love you all. Please review, it makes me feel so loved. (The Mouse that Roared – you are amazing and wonderful. I love it that someone's actually following this. :dances around in her seat:)


	6. Difficult Advice

Chapter Six: Difficult Advice

"Maddison," I asked slowly as we walked down the stairs to our room, several paces behind Alicia, "did that oath make any sense to you? I mean, the part about not being born if you break it? Wouldn't that create some sort of time paradox?"

"I didn't understand it either," she confessed. "All I know is that it's totally unbreakable – I mean, even the _Founders _wouldn't break it."

"Does it frighten you?"

"Yeah, a bit. Just… well, I thought Alicia was a little reckless. Helping any Slytherin, indeed. Someone's going to use that against her."

My reply was cut off when someone called my name from upstairs. "I'd better go, Maddison," I said apologetically, turning back the way we'd come. I found Amanda Wilkes sitting with Eli Rosier in the common room. A fire crackled ominously in the background.

" Lydia. Please, sit down," Amanda said softly, gesturing to a nearby armchair. "We've… well, Eli and I wanted to talk to you. We're a little worried, frankly."

"Worried? I—why?"

" Carmichael, what happened tonight? Why weren't you at the feast?" Eli asked.

"Well… Bagnold started talking about John's father, so John got mad, and when Alicia stopped him from doing anything Bagnold insulted her family too, so they jumped on him and some other Gryffindors came running and so everyone joined in" – here I stopped to take a deep breath – "and Vector came over and blamed us and made us miss the feast."

Amanda paused to take in my lengthy statement. "Are you all getting a lot of trouble from the Gryffindors?"

"Well, mostly Bagnold."

She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and looked helplessly at Eli, who turned to meet my eyes. " Carmichael, you seem to be getting rather close to Wood."

I nodded.

"We're not sure that's entirely safe," Amanda continued slowly. "She's becoming very… well, very popular with her house, Lydia. I'm not entirely sure they'll approve of your friendship."

"We don't care what anyone thinks."

"But, Carmichael, that's not really the problem," Eli elaborated. "You can't defend yourself against the older Gryffindors to begin with. They're bigger than you, and they know more. And if you're outnumbered, then there's really nothing you're going to be able to do."

"I'm not going to—to break up with Lyra. I don't care what the danger is," I told them stubbornly.

Eli threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "You're going to regret this, Carmichael," he told me, and then, raising his voice, called, "Wenlock! Get over here!" Zach appeared from a dim corner of the common room, looking slightly guilty.

"Yeah, Eli?"

"You're to tutor Carmichael."

"In what!" I asked angrily.

"In Defense Against the Dark Arts," Eli explained. "Actually, in offensive magic, really. I want her to be able to extract herself from any situation she gets herself into. Work her hard enough so she has neither the time nor the energy to be friendly with a certain Gryffindor beater."

Zach stared at the two prefects in disbelief. "You want _me _to convince _her_ to break it off with Wood?"

"No," Amanda told him. "We want you to teach her everything that could come in handy when she gets attacked by angry Gryffindors who don't want their little Quidditch prodigy corrupted."

"Oh," he said, nodding.

"Wait, don't I get a say in this?" I asked in annoyance. The three of them didn't even bother to respond, but after an awkward moment, Zach turned to look at me.

"Go to bed, kid. We'll meet here Monday night after dinner, about seven."

Although annoyed about being referred to as a "kid", I walked down the staircase to my room and tumbled into bed. I was exhausted.

But even though I had been waiting all evening to finally sleep, there was far too much running through my head: Alicia's dangerous promise; the glint in Adrian's eye during our feast; Vector's unfair treatment of us; the first Quidditch match of the year, which was the next day. I couldn't sleep. Hogwarts, instead of being the carefree (or at least exciting) life I'd expected, was slowly turning into an insane nightmare.

I was frightened – for myself, for Alicia, for Lyra. I was afraid of the Unbreakable Oaths which had been sworn, afraid of the older Gryffindor students, afraid of being a Slytherin.

And I missed my parents. After my mother's curt letter, I had heard nothing more from them, and my casual denial had turned to disbelief and, now, despair. Only pride kept me from owling them now – pride, and perhaps also fear. Curling up under the down quilt on my bed (the Slytherin dormitories were beautiful, mysterious, and frigid), I could no longer keep back the tears which had been threatening to fall for weeks.

I wanted nothing more than to see my mother smile at me and to hear my father's boisterous laughter. I wanted them to love me again. After all, what had changed between us? I was still their daughter – still the same dark-haired girl with the same dark eyes. Their abandonment was like a physical pain somewhere in my chest, and, that night, I cried myself to sleep. That night, I would have done anything to regain their love.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, I was the only one in our room. With a smile, I allowed myself to burrow down further underneath the covers. Saturday mornings were my favorite part of the week.

When I finally managed to coax myself out of bed, sun was streaming in through our window. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant – Maddison had assured me that there was a correlation between our weather and what the window showed, but I had been unable to figure it out, and she refused to tell me ("Well, if you aren't observant enough to figure it out on your own, then _I'm _certainly not going to do the work for you!"). Humming softly, I rifled through my trunk for a clean set of robes.

"Feeling better this morning, lass?"

I jumped several feet in the air with a squeak. "Who are you!" I demanded, looking around for the voice. My only answer was a laugh, and then:

"I'm behind you, lass. Look up." Obeying, I was relieved to see that the voice came from one of Maddison's paintings – this one showed a rather chipper-looking man in plaid robes. He was carrying a set of bagpipes. Grinning, he waved at me. "See? I'm not that frightening. Now, lassie, what's your name?"

" Lydia," I told him. " Lydia Medea Carmichael."

"Well, Lydia, I'm the Lord Byron Urquhart. Friends call me Lord Byron. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," I replied, and then fell silent. I was no stranger to talking paintings – there was a portrait of my grandmother at home which no one could get off the wall, and she used to lecture me on purity of blood. There had also been a shepherdess on the wall above my bed who gave me advice on life and occasionally love ("See, sweetie, if he asks you for a dance, don't dance too close; he'll think it forward."). I was just not accustomed to my reserved roommate's painting suddenly striking up a conversation.

"Well, Miss Lydia Carmichael, what's troubling you?"

I looked up at him in surprise. "Lord Byron?"

"Well, lass, I heard someone crying last night, and you're in the closest bed. Would you like someone to listen to your woes?" He paused. "I had three granddaughters myself, you know. I'm no stranger to the problems of little girls."

Somehow I doubted that this man was quite used to my particular problems, but I desperately wanted to talk to someone, so I nodded and sat back down on my bed, looking up at the framed canvas. "It's my parents," I began. "After I was Sorted into Slytherin, they—wait, do you know about the four houses? And the Sorting?"

"Why of course!" the Lord Byron exclaimed. "I was one of Helga's students myself, but my sister was one of Salazar's. We made a great team – I was stubborn as all hell, and she could smell a conspiracy a mile away." He smiled in remembrance.

"Oh," I said, although inwardly I was shocked. A Hufflepuff and a Slytherin in the same family? Working together? And what was all this first-name stuff anyway? "Well, my parents weren't very happy with my Sorting. They think Slytherin's a house for Dark wizards, you know? So they've disowned me." I couldn't keep my voice from shaking as I added, "I really miss them."

"So that's the way of things, is it? Salazar's house is full of the wicked?" Dumbly, I nodded, and he continued, "They told me Hogwarts had changed. I just didn't realize it had changed this much." He sighed. "So, your parents've disowned you? What kind of ignorant, bigoted folk must they be?"

"Sir?"

"Well, Miss Lydia Carmichael, are you evil?"

"No…"

"Wicked? Dark?"

"No, sir."

"Then your parents should know that. If they can't tell that their own daughter is a good, sweet little girl, then they shouldn't call themselves her parents."

I stared at him. "But then I wouldn't _have _parents!"

"Do you have them now?"

For a long moment I could only gape at him in complete shock. Then, finally, "No, sir," I told him, and promptly burst into tears.

"Oh, don't cry, don't cry!" the Lord Byron exclaimed. "Please don't cry. I'm so sorry, terribly sorry. Please cheer up. It's not really that bad. Perhaps they'll come to their senses? Oh, do stop crying…"

He was so comical-sounding that I did, in fact, stop crying. Sniffing a little, I looked back at him. "I'm all right now," I said, trying to smile. "I think maybe you're right."

"You do?" He sounded so gratified that I could hardly help grinning.

"Yes. I think you are. If they aren't going to be my parents, I'm not going to be their daughter, and I've spent far too much time already crying about it. I'm _done. _They can go be their own annoying selves." I crossed my arms decisively for emphasis and met Lord Byron's painted eyes. He grinned back at me.

"Excellent idea! And now, Miss Lydia Carmichael, you had best be going. Isn't there a Quidditch game today?"

I glanced over at the clock, which read 12:19 in neon green, and, under that: _Time to get going! Don't be late!_ "You're right!" I shrieked. "I've got to go, I'm going to be late!"

The Lord Byron watched with amusement as I scrambled to get ready, and I waved to him as I dashed out the door and toward the kitchens (for a quick snack) and then to the Quidditch pitch to watch the game.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, any of that stuff. I do own this fic, so please don't steal it, or my muses will come after you (be afraid. Be very afraid).**

A/N: As always, I love my betas – VercisIsolde, Ambika-San, Haleth Aldea, and Amelie. They're the reason this fic is where it is.

If you read, please review. It makes me so happy!

**SPOILERS FOR HPB BEYOND THIS POINT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

I've gone through and edited out Dumbledore, and earlier chapters will be re-uploaded when I remember. Personally, I think Snape's innocent/good/NOT EVIL, and I need him later in the fic, so he's staying. My reasoning for him returning to teach is that someone had to be there for the Slytherins, and no one else would. So Snape came back.

Review! Review! Review!


	7. A Bittersweet Love Story

Chapter Seven: A Bittersweet Love Story

The wind was chilly, but the sky was clear blue and the stands were packed. I squeezed in between Alicia and Evan. "What's going on?" I asked, "I thought I was late!"

"There's some delay," Evan explained. "But here they come now."

The two teams came out from opposite ends of the stadium, Hufflepuff first. The Gryffindors sent up a huge cheer as their team came out, and I half-stood in order to spot Lyra. We watched the game with enthusiasm, although, being Slytherins, we didn't cheer for either team. Commentary was provided by one of the older Gryffindors, and Alicia added her own interpretation in my ear. Halfway through the game, Lyra spotted me in the stands and waved, turning over in place and knocking a bludger to the side with one hand. I was suitably impressed. Alicia muttered something from behind me, but I wasn't paying attention.

Gryffindor won the game two hundred and fifty to eighty, and I sent Lyra a note with Perseus. I didn't feel up to battling the hoard of triumphant Gryffindors, especially with her fellow beater glaring in my direction every few moments.

" Lydia!" Alicia hissed at me that night before bed, "Are you insane? Do you want to get yourself hexed? Stop being friendly with that Gryffindor! She's popular! She's on the damn _Quidditch team_! Their captain is bigger than all three of us combined, and he knows more curses than my sister, and that's saying something!"

Maddison sleepily mumbled her assent, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

* * *

Monday morning, an unfamiliar raven made its way towards me and landed on the rim of my goblet, tasting my pumpkin juice. I stared at it in amazement, and slowly untied the letter from its leg, praying this wasn't another painful letter from my mother.

_Lydia__ --_

_I'm dreadfully sorry not to have managed to see you off at the station or to write before this. Ginny and I took the kids to _ _Greenland__ to meet up with the Weasley-Granger family (you remember them, right?)—Hermione's been looking for old wizarding relic-things for the past three months. She thought they were in _ _Mesopotamia__, but as it turned out she needed to go to _ _Greenland__ and visit old Viking settlements, and so everyone went with her. We were supposed to be finished with this before your birthday, but somehow every question Hermione answers seems to lead to a dozen more. She's confiscated my Firebolt because I "might go do something stupid like try to fly solo across the Northern Atlantic, and then where would we be?" and the Floo's not reliable over water, and plus they don't use it over here. Hopefully I'll be home before Christmas, but it seems less and less likely._

_Your parents haven't owled me, which I guess is understandable since it's hard to get one to go that far, so I have no idea about anything. How'd your Sorting go? I remember mine as being one of the scariest moments of my time at Hogwarts (excluding all the Voldemort stuff). Are you having fun? Hermione's looking over my shoulder at this, and she wants me to remind you to study. _

_So study, _ _Lydia__, but not too hard. Explore a bit. It's tons of fun, and I'd like to hear how many passages you can find. Watch out for Filch, though. He's got it in for the students. _

_Leif (that's the raven) will stick around for a few days for a letter. He needs to rest anyway. Whistle for him when you want him – the first few notes of "Happy Birthday" seem to work best. Just don't load him down with a ton of parchment. Hope to hear from you soon. How's the Quidditch season going? They manage to coax you on a broom yet?_

_Lots of love,_

_Harry _

_PS – We're enclosing a (very late) birthday present. I hope you like it; Ginny picked it out for me. She said it was high time you had some good jewelry, and this is supposed to do something magical, but I honestly have no idea what – Ginny didn't explain, and Hermione says she doesn't know, and the woman we got it from was rather vague. I hope the color's all right._

I examined the small parcel before unwrapping it carefully. Resting in the box was a delicate-looking bracelet, made of what looked like twisted silver. Light green stones were set into the silver, and, at irregular intervals, unfamiliar runes were cut into the metal. I smirked. He hoped the color was all right, indeed!

" Carmichael," Alicia asked, "what is that? Who sent it to you?"

My smirk turned to a grin as I answered her. "My godfather. Harry Potter."

There was a rather long silence, broken by one of the second years. "_Harry Potter _is your _godfather_!" he screeched at me in a rather un-Slytherin manner. "What in _hell _are you doing here!"

I smiled, beginning to see an opportunity. "I'm ambitious, that's why. Harry understands that – after all, he was almost a Slytherin, too." After a pause, I added, "He's quite proud of me. That's why he got me this bracelet." And I fastened it around my wrist, inwardly grinning. Two hours, and the school would know that the Boy Who Lived was apparently happy with a certain Slytherin first year!

* * *

Monday afternoons were spent in a long double Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which completely erased my good mood. Professor Rufford was kind, but I would occasionally catch him giving us really strange looks: part disappointment, part pity, part horror.

Why did he feel he had a right to judge us, anyway?

"Yo, Carmichael," one of the older Gryffindors yelled from down the hall as I walked towards the door, "I heard Potter sent you some kind of present. What the hell for?"

I smirked. "'Cause he's my godfather," I told him, trying to sound as innocent as I could. "He loves me." Without waiting for an answer, I waltzed into the classroom and sat down in the back.

Professor Rufford looked out at my class. I think it saddened him, a little, to see us. I knew he had been an auror during the war, and Evan had whispered once, after our first lesson, that he been one of the aurors who captured his parents after the war – I wondered what he thought when he saw Evan. Was he sorry for taking his family away? Did he think Evan would turn out the same? Did he wonder if he remembered that night?

"Take out your essays. Mister Trimble, would you collect them for me? Thank you, lad. Now, today we're going to talking a little bit about how to recognize vampires. Would you all please take out your parchment and quills?" There was a general groan in response to his words—we'd spent months taking notes. Lyra said the Gryffindors had practiced a few simple spells, but we hadn't taken our wands out yet this year.

The lesson dragged by. I could hear Maddison making hissing noises in front of me, like she didn't approve. I didn't blame her—I didn't approve either. How were we going to learn anything like this?

By the time Rufford let us go, my hand was cramping from so much writing. I massaged it a little, as I followed Evan out the door—he always seemed to be the first one out.

" Lydia," someone said as I headed down the hall. I turned to see an earnest-looking boy with acid-green hair: my cousin, Teddy Lupin. He was a third year Gryffindor, half-werewolf, and a Metamorphmagus (meaning he could transform himself at will, and Transfiguration was never a problem for him. I wished it ran in the family—I was hopeless). "Can I talk to you?"

"What about?" Cameron snapped, stepping in front of me. I elbowed him.

"It's all right," I said quietly. "He's my cousin. What's going on, Teddy?"

"I—" He stopped, looking pointedly at Cameron until he rolled his eyes and backed up to give us some semblance of privacy. "What's going on?" he asked finally. "I owled Aunt Acantha right after you got Sorted, and she said everything was fine, but I've been watching and she isn't owling you. Are they—" He hesitated. "Are they angry with you, Lydia? Is it the Slytherin thing?"

I tugged at my braid. "They're…they're pretty mad, Teddy. Mum thinks I'm evil."

He frowned. "Maybe the Sorting Hat just made a mistake?"

I shook my head. "I don't think it knows how, Teddy."

"Well…" He trailed off, finally putting an arm around me in an awkward one-sided hug. "D'you want me to owl them? Harry? Grandmother?"

"Don't bother. They'll get over it, and you know my mum'll go ballistic if she thinks we're talking about family stuff in public."

"If you're sure," he said, doubtfully. Then, his glance falling to Cameron and Evan, he spoke up again. "You two—what are your names?"

They exchanged glances. "Viridian," Cameron said finally, "and he's Rookwood."

"You watch out for her," Teddy told them. "And Lydia, if you need anything—me to owl your parents or whatever—"

"I know," I answered. "I'll ask."

He nodded seriously, then squeezed my shoulder again before dashing back down the hallway. Evan and Cameron were staring at me. "What?" I finally asked. "He's a cousin."

"How?" Evan asked.

"Well, my mum and his mum were sisters," I explained. "He spends a lot of time with us, too, since his parents are both dead."

"He's a Gryffindor," Cameron sniffed. I rolled my eyes.

"I know, but we're _related_. And anyway, Teddy's—he's not _bad_, you know? He doesn't care about me being a Slytherin—"

"Don't be idiotic," Evan retorted. "Everyone cares."

"That's what's idiotic," I snapped back, and Cameron stepped between us, chatting nervously until we got back to the common room.

* * *

Disclaimer: Dude! Guess what? JKR just sold me the Potterverse for $6.57! NOW I OWN THEM ALL :insert evil laughter: 

…And if you believed that, there's this awesome internet scam going on…

Seriously, though, if it's not JKR's it is mine, so don't steal please.

A/N: My betas are all amazing. I love them. And I apologize for the really long delay…there's really no excuse. At all. Although Haleth Aldea and I (and Jem, another girl in our dorm) have started a fanfiction club at our school…so that totally gives me bonus points, right?

Please review….


	8. Practical Lessons

Chapter Eight: Practical Lessons

After depositing my bookbag on the bed, I rifled through my nightstand until I found my stationary box, grabbed it, and headed upstairs to the common room. Once there, I took out a sheet of creamy parchment (with my name embossed at the top) and found a bottle of dark blue ink.

_Dear Harry, _I began. Chewing on my quill, I thought about what I wanted to say.

_It's fine that you couldn't see me off. You're forgiven. It was all very emotional, anyway, and I'm not sure I could have dealt with another bit of advice. The train ride was fun, and I sat with a really nice girl. We stood together at the Sorting, and you're right, it's the scariest thing I've done yet. It's like having someone _inside _your mind, talking to you, knowing everything._

_We have flying every Wednesday. It's the worst class! I don't see why you like it so much, Harry, you're up too high on a _stick. _They're not that reliable, you know. The first Quidditch match was Saturday. Gryffindor won, 250 – 80! Aren't you proud? The next game's against Slytherin, so we're a little nervous, but I'm sure we'll win. We have an awesome team._

_One of my roommates, Maddison, is completely insane. She knows _everything_, and she tells you about it, and she's way overconfident. How do you deal with a girl who thinks she's better than anyone else? More to the point, how do you deal with one that _is _better than anyone else, at everything? I swear, she knows every answer to every question, she's prickly, and she's impossible. You know what her first words to me were? "Can't you read?" Isn't that horrible? Do you have any advice?_

_So far Defense Against the Dark Arts is boring, but I don't mind Transfiguration as much. I'm not very good, but Professor Fawcett is nice, and she's funny too. I think Potions is the best—Professor Snape is all right, and I'm good at it._

_Thanks a ton for the bracelet! I don't mind at all about the colors, and it gave me an excuse to brag about how you're my godfather. I impressed a few people, I must say. What exactly are you looking for in _ _Greenland__? Is it nice across the Ocean?_

_Please write soon!_

_Lydia__ Medea _ _Carmichael_

I looked over the letter, then decided it was perfect and sealed it. Returning my stationary box to my room, I headed to the owlery to look for Harry's raven.

Standing in the doorway, I glanced around without seeing him. "Leif?" I called tentatively.

There was no response. Remembering Harry's letter, I looked furtively around. No one else was there. Quickly, I whistled the opening to "Happy Birthday", and the raven flew toward me and landed on my shoulder.

"You're a prat," I told it quietly. "Making me whistle like that. D'you know how stupid that makes me feel?" Shaking my head, I tied the letter to Leif's leg and sent him off.

* * *

After dinner, I headed back to the Slytherin common room to meet Zach Wenlock. I took a seat in one of the leather armchairs and stared into the fire, waiting for him. The whole situation made me incredibly angry. I didn't want to have special tutoring in Dark Arts, or the Defense Against, or whatever. I just wanted to be friends with Lyra and have it be okay.

" Lydia," he greeted me quietly. I hadn't heard him approach, and I started, whirling around in the chair to look at him.

"Zach," I replied, almost levelly.

"That's the first thing, then, that we'll need to work on. You need to be more aware. Someone – a whole mob of someones – could come and take you by surprise, and there'd be the end of our Lydia. So your first assignment is to tell me, without looking, how many are in this room."

I stared at him. "Er… there's us, and a group over in the corner, and… I don't know, I thought there was someone else near the door, as well."

He shook his head. "Wrong. There are sixteen in the room right now: eight around the largest table, one at the table by the girls' staircase, three on the seventh-year couch, two playing chess inside the circle of chairs, and us. Look around, count them."

I did as instructed, swiveling around to count the Slytherins. He was right; there were sixteen. "How'd you know?"

"Awareness, Lydia, is the single most important quality you can possess. Without it, anyone can surprise you, attack you. But with it, you'll know who's around you." He paused. "Later, of course, you'll be expected to know who everyone is, and how much of a threat they'd be in a fight, but for now numbers are fine."

I stared at him.

"What? I know these things. All Slytherins do. It's how we survive." He seemed about to say more for a moment; then he stopped. "Well, anyway, let's move on. What have you learned in Defense this year?"

"Umm…just the general overview, you know, what's dark and what's not, and we've covered a few of the easier hexes. But that's all."

He frowned. "No protective spells? None at all?"

"Er… no, none at all."

"Okay, then, we'll start with that. There are a few basic types of protective spells. Shielding charms cause a magical shield to form around or in front of you, blocking or neutralizing anything flung at you. Then there are blocking spells, which are used against a specific spell, and produce a beam of light that meets the curse or whatever head-on and hopefully overcomes it. Then, of course, there are spells that make you invisible or just unnoticeable, so you don't get cursed or hexed to begin with. Got that?"

"Umm… sort of. Shielding spells stop all spells, blocking charms stop single spells head-on, and then there are ones that make it so people don't notice you?"

"Basically, yeah. Now, we're going to start with Defensive Charms, which are your basic shielding charms. The easiest is Protego, which creates a barrier to deflect curses or hexes thrown at you. Say it, without your wand."

"_Protego_," I said carefully.

"Right. Now, try it again, but use your wand. Swish and flick."

I swished, flicked, and spoke: "_Protego!"_ A beam of white light shot towards the wall.

"Nice, Lydia. But can you hold it when I hex you? Ready?"

I nodded, holding my wand out. "Ready."

"_Furnunculus!" _He shouted, as I yelled _"Protego!_"

My beam of light shot towards him, spread in front of me…and then collapsed. I felt boils break out on my skin. "Ow!"

" Lydia, you have to _mean_ it."

"I did mean it! Un-hex me!"

He looked at me in surprise. "You mean you can't do that, either? Have you done _any _practical lessons yet?"

"Zach! Stop it! This _hurts_!"

I heard him sigh heavily. "The basic spell to end a spell is _Finite Incantatem_. It will stop most magical effects, at least at the level you're dealing with."

"_Finite Incantatem!" _I half-screamed, wand pointed at myself. It worked; the boils disappeared and I was left with only faint red marks to show where they had been. "You call that teaching, Zach?"

"_Engorgio!"_ was all he said in response, but this time I was ready.

"_Protego!" _I retorted, and this time the beam of light spread into a shield and then held firm. I lowered my wand only after he'd lowered his, and my shield disappeared.

"See? You learned. And next time you'll do the same thing, and the time after that. Plus, you learned you could perform under pressure, and you learned how to un-hex yourself. Now, what've you learned in almost three months of Defense?"

"Well…not much, really. We've done the line between Dark magic and other magic, and we've done typical punishments for Dark Arts, and we've done a general overview of the types of Dark magic, defensive magic, Dark creatures, that kind of thing. Oh, and, like, three essays on why Ministry classification and restrictions on Dark magic were imperative to our safety." I paused. "Didn't you ask me that already?"

"That's all?"

I nodded.

"No practical lessons?"

"Not yet. He said maybe after Christmas holidays."

"Did he say _why_?"

I shrugged. "Ministry rules, I think. Or maybe the headmistress."

He sighed heavily. "All right, then. I won't say anything when you wind up helpless in the face of danger. Anyway, the next of the three basic Defensive Charms is the Parmae Charm. It's not as easy as _Protego, _but it's stronger and it'll cover you for longer, and against synchronized attacks, so in a group fight, it's invaluable. It'll start out as a small, roundish shield and then expand to wrap around you. The downside is it decreases hearing and sight from outside, so you may miss key bits of the attack. Got all that?"

"I think so."

"Well, then _say _it," he told me in annoyance.

"The Parmae Charm is stronger than _Protego_ and will hold for longer, and against coordinated attacks. It starts as a small round thing and then expands to encircle the caster, but the downside is you won't be able to tell what's going on outside of it, and it's harder than _Protego,"_ I recited.

"Very good. The incantation is _Parma_, and careful with that last a."

" _Parma_," I repeated cautiously.

"That's good. Now, try it out."

" _Parma__!" _

Nothing happened. Trying not to sound disappointed, I asked Zach what I'd done wrong.

"Nothing, exactly. Sometimes it just takes longer to get it going. Try again," he told me.

" _Parma__!" _I tried, but again, without any result. "Zach, this _isn't working._"

"I can see that," he said, and I could have sworn he was trying to hide a laugh.

"This isn't funny, Zach."

And then he did laugh, and I glared at him as he tried to regain his composure. "Sorry, Lydia. I know it's not funny. It's just—" he stopped, laughing again.

"What's so funny?" a girl asked, turning an armchair around to face us. "I could hear Zach laughing all the way from my room."

"Nothing's funny," I told her. "He's just being an idiot."

"I am not," he told her, when he'd finally regained calmed down. " Lydia's just having some trouble with the Parmae Charm, and, well… oh, never mind. Sarah, would you care to help me show her how this thing ought to work?"

"Sure," she replied, holding her wand ready. "Fire at will."

"_Engorgio!_" he yelled, as Sarah screamed, " _Parma__!" _

A large, round white shield emerged from the tip of her wand, growing larger and larger until it had wrapped around her completely. Zach's curse connected with it and stopped. After a moment it vaporized, and Sarah lowered her shield. "See?" Zach asked me, "That's how to do it." Then, belatedly, he added, "Sarah, this is Lydia Carmichael, the first year who's fallen in with a Gryffindor. Lydia, this is Sarah Portsmouth, fifth year."

"Pleasure," Sarah Portsmouth said, holding out her hand. I shook it wordlessly.

"Right," Zach said, "let's try that again, Lydia."

* * *

We ended the lesson with three charms to prevent fights from starting: one to make the caster invisible, one to make her inaudible, and one to make her seem unimportant ("It won't work if they're looking for you," Zach had warned me). I wasn't able to perform any of them, although, to my annoyance, Sarah Portsmouth proved to be a master at all three.

"Is she worth it, Lydia?" Zach asked as I started down the marble stairs. "Is Wood worth all this?"

I didn't answer him.

* * *

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. Neither is Sirius or Snape or Hogwarts… 

A/N: Many, many thanks to my betas for editing this chapter. I was going to give you all a double update for Halloween, but…it didn't happen. Actually, to be quite truthful, my hard drive killed itself and I lost a lot of stuff….including all of chapter nine.

Also, I'm taking November for NaNoWriMo so this is going on the back burner so I can attempt to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Wish me luck, and please send lots of happy thoughts to Amelie, who is home sick.

And…I love you all…please review? Please? It makes me so happy…and if there's something you think could be better…then I'll only know if you tell me!


	9. Slytherin Against the World

Chapter Nine: Slytherin Against the World 

The first real blizzard came in late November, on a Monday afternoon. We sat, jumpy, through Professor Rufford's double Defense class.

_"What,_" he finally asked, mid-lecture, "is distracting you?"

"Please, Professor," Cameron said with a barely-concealed grin. "It's _snowing_!"

He turned to the window, and for a moment I saw him smile. "Be that as it may, Mr. Viridian, you are still in class. Now, can anyone tell me the reasons the Ministry regulates Dark magic?"

Maddison's hand shot up. "Professor Rufford, we've _done _this. We've done it more than once." She sounded impatient, snappy. "It's so we don't all turn into another Voldemort, and I understand you're worried about that, sure, but – _we get it._ We've listened. We've written essays on this, Professor! Tons of essays! And we haven't taken our wands out more than once yet this year! I'm in this class for a _reason_!"

"It's all right," John broke in. "We'll all go to Macnair's house for Christmas, all right? His father can explain it all."

Adrian smirked at Professor Rufford. For a moment, I was confused – and then I remembered: Adrian's father was a convicted Death Eater, who'd somehow escaped an Azkaban life sentence. "I hardly think Mr. Macnair's family would appreciate—"

"They won't mind," Adrian interrupted. "They simply _adore _having company, Professor."

"Be that as it may," Professor Rufford tried again, and I knew he was trying to backtrack, trying to remove himself from the suggestion of anti-Slytherin bias, because how could our teacher think we were _evil_? But this time I interrupted him.

"Class is over, Professor."

The eight of us dashed out without a backwards glance. "Bloody Gryffindor supporter. You can tell he's just _waiting _for us to go bad--," John mumbled when we were in the hall.

"He's not that bad," I protested. "If it's Ministry regulations--"

"Fuck that," he said. "The Gryffindorks get to use their wands." I followed hi outside, where an impromptu snowball fight had started.

We separated immediately: the fight, ranging all around the castle, pitted girls against boys. The girls had taken over the Quidditch pitch by the goalposts, and a group of sixth years was building a large wall. I ducked behind them, sending a snowball in the other direction.

"Nice shot!" a girl – Hufflepuff by her badge – congratulated me as it connected with a fourth-year boy's head.

I grinned at her, and the two of us fought together, sending packed snowballs across the field. Looking around, I saw Lyra fighting next to a tall Slytherin girl – Alexis – and Alicia handing perfect snowballs to Jillian Holmes, a Gryffindor with coffee-colored skin and perfect aim. As the bell rang for after lunch classes, I decided that I hadn't yet had a better day at Hogwarts.

As the older students filed inside, grumbling and cursing the first years for their free Friday afternoons, those remaining pulled together. For a few minutes more, we were still boys verses girls – but then someone turned sides, and without even realizing it, the fight became Slytherins against the world. The eight first years – plus three older students whose names I didn't know – gathered in a frightened clump in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.

"I don't understand!" Aaron hissed at me. "This was supposed to just be fun!"

"They hate us," Evan said quietly, and I thought he might be about to cry.

We fought as hard as we could – I was startled to find myself thinking of this as a real fight, of everyone else – even Lyra – as an enemy, and I realized that for the first time, I hated them. I tried to shield myself, but for some reason the charms Zach had taught me didn't hold.

"Ow!" Maddison burst out, as an iceball hit her face. "That _hurt_!"

"Of course it did," said the tall, white-blonde girl fighting with us. "They meant it to."

"Damn them to hell," added the boy next to her. "We've got to get out of this."

"How?" Adrian asked him. "We're surrounded."

"We have to run," John said, "and hope we get lucky."

The other boy, tall and skinny with shaggy brown hair, looked around and then grinned. "Grab the hand of the person next to you. Kids, this is called Obscuring Your Escape Route. Watch closely." He raised his wand and muttered something I didn't catch as a snowy tunnel opened in front of us. We grabbed hands and dashed after him through the snow. I heard yells from around me, and ducked my head, clutching Alicia's hand in my left and Cameron's in my right.

We reached a side door I'd never seen before under cover of the snow tunnel. It collapsed as we sprinted inside, and the other boy – this one well-built, with sandy hair – slammed the door shut. "Right," he said, "you kids go down to the common room; I'm going to get us some drinks."

"Nothing alcoholic!" the girl cried after him. "We've got firsties with us!"

"We can drink!" Adrian protested.

"You're what, eleven?"

"Twelve last week," he bragged.

"Mm-hm. Well, wait until there's something to celebrate, kid, 'cause I'm not holding your hand when you get smashed."

Adrian sulked all the way to the dungeons.

"Right," the tall boy said when we were all seated around the fire and hot mugs of butterbeer had been handed out, "let's do names. I'm Riley Curtis. Seventh year."

"Annie Hodgeson," said the white-blonde girl as she leaned against the burly boy's legs and fiddled with her hair. "I'm a sixth year. And a prefect."

"Taylor Burke, sixth year," the boy told us.

"Aaron Trimble."

"Cameron Viridian."

"Adrian Macnair."

"Maddison Whisp."

"Alicia Travers."

"John Avery."

" Lydia Carmichael."

"Evan Rookwood."

Annie looked around at us. "Are you all seriously firsties?"

We nodded.

"Bloody huge year," Taylor commented. "Are you all just that cunning?"

"Death Eater parents," John explained. "Couldn't go anywhere else." Looking around, I saw Adrian, Alicia, and Evan nodding.

"Well, I'm a vindictive bastard, don't know about you," Cameron said lightly.

"And I love commotion… stealth… subtlety," Aaron added.

Maddison smirked. "I'm just that cunning, I guess. And ambitious. And powerful."

I swallowed. "I just—I want to be amazing. Unforgettable. I want to _make _things happen."

Riley clapped his hands and came close to cackling. "Looks like I'll be leaving this house in good hands, don't you think, Annie?"

She raised her mug to the ceiling. "I salute you all – our little first years."

We were silent, and then Alicia asked softly, "Is it always like it was outside? Us against the world?"

Annie nodded, but it was Taylor who spoke – "They hate us. It doesn't matter to them that we aren't all dark. They don't care."

"It's not fair," she protested.

"Fair? Fair? Kid, there's no fair in this school, not for us. It's just about survival, just about--"

Annie put a restraining hand on his knee. "It'll be Christmas soon. We can get away from all this then."

"Not me," Cameron muttered.

"Parents?" Taylor asked.

"No – I live at the Ministry orphanage, and… well, they think Slytherins and Death Eaters are the same. I can't go back to the kids there."

"Excellent," Evan said, "you can hang out with me. My cousin won't even be in Europe – I can't go home."

"Me neither," I added. "Not that I would, even if my parents asked me home for Christmas."

"This is your home now," Annie said quietly. "And your family. It always will be."

Riley grinned. "You kids have the cunning to succeed, the ambition. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. But now – it's all about learning to use it. To us," he said, raising his glass. "To Slytherin."

"To Slytherin," we echoed, and drained our mugs.

"Alicia?" I asked when we were upstairs. "What's your family like?"

"Just my mum and my sisters and I."

"What about your dad?"

She shrugged. "He's been on the run from the Ministry since I can remember."

"Was he a Death Eater?" I knew escaped Death Eaters still existed, hiding, but I'd never thought about one having a child – especially one in my dorm.

She shook her head vehemently. "My mum says he wasn't."

"Ha," Maddison interjected as she dressed for bed. "He wouldn't be on the run if he weren't, now would he?"

"And what about _your _family, Maddison?" Alicia shot back.

"_My _family is perfect," she said loftily.

"Right," I said. "Love, wealth, and happiness? No one's got that, Maddison."

"We do."

I rolled my eyes and turned back to Alicia. "Sure she does," I muttered. She laughed.

"What about you, Lydia? They written or anything?"

"No, not yet."

"They'll come around," she told me optimistically.

I shook my head. "I know they will, but… I'm not even sure I want them to anymore. I just want to ignore them, and then I want to be so _amazing _that they'll want to tell everyone I'm their daughter – and then I'll tell the world what they're like."

"_Someone's _bitter," Maddison said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Nah," I told her. "I've just got my pride."

* * *

A/N: Wow, this was a fun chapter…I apologize for the angst, but warn that there is much still to come (it's a Gryffindor/Slytherin femmeslash, and my protagonist's parents aren't speaking with her – angst is essential!). 

I still don't own Harry Potter or anything related – JKR does, strangely enough – but the rest is mine.

My betas – Haleth Aldea, VercisIsolde, Ambika-San, Amelie, and Selch (she's new! Send her happy thoughts!) – are amazing and I send them many thanks. Without them I wouldn't be able to post – and without your reviews, I wouldn't be happy enough to write this rather angsty fic. So please keep reviewing!


	10. Slytherin Games

Chapter Ten: Slytherin Games 

The next Saturday I woke up to Maddison's incessant, " Lydia! Up!" Groaning, I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed. Both my roommates were in green, silver, and black. Alicia, her face painted with green stripes, grinned at me.

" Lydia, it's the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch game! Come on! We want good seats!"

I had to grin back at her as I sat up. "Fine, I'm up," I protested, yawning. "Let me get dressed."

After I'd managed to find a clean set of robes and tame my hair, Alicia handed me a green scarf and hat, and Maddison shoved a green cloak into my hands. "Let's go," she said, and the three of us ran out to the Quidditch pitch.

Aaron and Cameron were already there, and Zach held one end of a huge green banner (it read _Slyther On!_ in large silver letters, and the "S" was a twisting, hissing snake). Waving, I left my roommates to sit by him. "Morning, Lydia," he said.

"Hi," I replied.

"I hope you cheer loudly," he told me. "We're going to have to overpower the other three houses."

"I'm loud when I want to be," I boasted, and sat back to watch the stands fill up.

The rest of the school wore red and gold. I fiddled with my scarf and felt a twinge of shame –then I looked around to the rest of my house, and the feeling was eclipsed with a wave of fierce pride. _This is your family_, Annie's voice said in my head.

Cheers erupted across the stadium as the Gryffindor team flew in. I grinned at Lyra, but didn't dare cheer. Slytherin house stood as one as our team flew in – "Carrow! Rosier! Graves! McHugh! Jugson! Shingleton! Everard!" screamed the commentator.

The captains – Eli Rosier and some Gryffindor I didn't know – shook hands, and the game began. It was vicious and violent; Madame Hooch called more fouls than I thought possible. We were ahead – eighty to sixty – when a bludger hit our keeper in the face and she fell to the ground.

"_Fuck_," Zach breathed next to me, "_Eleanor._"

"And it looks like Slytherin keeper Carrow is out for the game – tough luck, Slytherin. As the bludger came out of nowhere, it doesn't seem that a penalty will be awarded—"

My entire house jumped to its feet and screamed. How _dare_ they knock our keeper out and not give us a penalty?! "Foul!" I yelled. "That was a _foul_!"

Rosier was on the ground, arguing with Madame Hooch – her hands were in the air, helpless – and then the teams were back in play.

"Blatant favoritism," Zach muttered to me. He glared at the pitch as the Gryffindor chasers scored, once, twice—

And then everyone stopped to watch Jess Everard race toward a far corner of the field. Both our beaters were guarding her, and her arm was outstretched, reaching, reaching – the Gryffindor seeker was close behind – I caught sight of the snitch glittering just in front of her – and then her hand closed, and she let out a cheer. Madame Hooch gestured for both teams to touch down, and the scoreboard flipped – Slytherin, 230. Gryffindor, 90.

The entire house screamed in triumph. We had won! As they shook hands with the defeated Gryffindors, our team hugged tightly and the sixth- and seventh-years ran onto the field to congratulate roommates.

"No tutoring tonight," Zach muttered in my ear. "Neither of us will be in any fit state for it."

"But—why?"

"You'll see," was all he would say.

I'd stopped by the owlery to send Lyra an I'm-sorry-but-you-were-still-amazing note on my way to the common room, and by the time I got there, everyone else had already gathered and the seven Quidditch players were basking by the fire. Eleanor Carrow was wrapped in a green blanket and sipping from a large mug, laughing with Jess Everard, while the five boys grouped around them, looking at Eleanor with concern and at Jess with pride.

" Lydia! Have some punch!" John yelled to me over the noise, handing me a paper cup full of an unidentifiable green liquid.

I stared at it nervously. "What's in it?"

He shrugged. "Who cares? It's good!"

I sniffed it experimentally, then shrugged and gulped it down. It tasted faintly of cinnamon and burned a little. "Do you like it?" he asked me.

I nodded. "Where did you get it?"

"Over by the seventh-year couch – go grab some!"

I grinned at him and went in search of the punch bowl. " Lydia!" Sarah Portsmouth said with a grin, stopping me. "What'd you think of your first Slytherin game?"

"It was intense," I told her honestly.

She laughed, a dangerous-looking sparkle in her eyes. "Don't drink too much of the punch, Lydia," she advised before sauntering off. I stared after her, and as I watched, I noticed Zach struggling up the stairs with a large set of speakers. He placed them on a table in the corner, and tapped them with his wand. The familiar sounds of the Wizard Wireless Top Hits filled the air, and the older students started to dance.

I drifted toward the wall, staring around the room. After a few moments, Alicia joined me, and we stared silently at the sea of movement. She nudged me and nodded toward Annie Hodgeson and Henry McHugh, who had stopped dancing and started kissing in the middle of the room. "Ew," I mouthed at Alicia, who nodded.

As the clock struck eleven, Professor Snape entered the room and the music cut off immediately. He surveyed the crowded common room, the half-empty punch bowl, and the swaying students, and glared around at us. "Bed! All of you! I can hear you from my apartments – what do you think you're doing?! Miss Wilkes, Mr. Rosier, I expected more!"

"Sorry, Professor," Amanda said with a barely-concealed grin. "We were just congratulating our team on such a thorough victory."

Snape's frown broke for a moment. "Yes, well – congratulations, of course. Noise down, all of you – I don't want to have to come back down here again!" He glared back at Amanda. "And next time, don't you dare spike that punch!"

And with a swish of his robes, he was gone, and the music resumed, this time slower. I recognized Celestina Warbeck's crooning and sighed. The older students paired off – those who weren't already making out in corners – and swayed, off-beat, to the music. John came toward me, one hand extended, and I laughed and shook my head as he turned to Alicia, who took his hand. They stepped toward the middle of the crowded floor and she put her arms around his neck. I rolled my eyes, moving back towards the punch bowl, where I could survey the entire room.

Sarah Portsmouth and Jess Everard sat together in one armchair by the fire. Jess was laughing, one arm flung around Sarah's shoulders. I spotted Zach moving toward them, looking nervous. He stopped to address Sarah; she laughed and waved him away with one hand.

I left the party just as Professor Snape came in a second time, feeling just a little dizzy and very, very happy. Maddison was in bed, and I heard the water running in the bathroom, so I tried to be quiet as I sat down on my bed and pulled out a letter from Harry, which I had received earlier but hadn't yet read.

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_I'm glad to hear your first few months are going well. Don't worry about your roommate! She's probably just as nervous as you are, but doesn't know how to deal with it. Just be friendly and polite; she'll come around. (And if she doesn't, it's her loss!) _

_As for how to deal with a know-it-all – she _doesn't _know the answer to every question! Hermione was like that in school, but (and don't tell her I told you this) that was because Hermione was afraid of not being the best. Some people measure themselves by their grades, or their looks, or family, or whatever. They feel that they have to be perfect, and in order to prevent others from seeing that they aren't, they push them away. I think that's what your roommate's doing, and it isn't healthy. Instead of feeling that she's a horrible person, you might feel sorry for her. She may just need good friends. _

_I'm glad you're enjoying your classes. What don't you like about Defense Against the Dark Arts? From what I've heard from Teddy, he's a fair teacher, and a nice one. _

_Have a great Christmas – I don't think I'll be able to get back in time to see you. I'll fill you in about my work here next time I get a chance. Good luck with your Quidditch game! _

_Love, _

_Harry _

"What's that?" I looked up; Alicia had walked into the room and flung herself onto her bed.

"It's a letter," I explained.

"No, really? I mean, who's it from? Your parents?"

"No, from my godfather."

She sat up. "Harry Potter, right?"

"Right…"

"How's he dealing with you being a Slytherin? I mean, he sent you that bracelet, right? But you said he apologized for the colors?"

I coughed a little. "Look, don't tell anyone, but—Harry doesn't actually _know_ I'm a Slytherin."

Alicia stared at me. "Come again?"

"I never told him, and he's not in Europe right now. So… I never told him."

"He thinks you're a Gryffindor," she stated.

"Yeah."

She shook her head slowly. "You have one insane double life, Lydia, and you are _so_ going to get caught."

* * *

A/N: I still don't own Harry Potter. Major thanks to Ambika-San and VercisIsolde, who beta-ed this with almost no warning and very little time. I promise to upload another (cleaner) copy once my other betas edit it, but I did want to get this out with chapter ten – consider the double update my Christmas present to you all. 

Oh, and a shameless plug – I have a forum (The Serpents' Den, for those with Slytherin leanings), and I would absolutely love it if people posted there.

Happy Holidays!


	11. Christmas Shopping

Chapter Eleven: Christmas Shopping 

"Where's my spare cloak?" Maddison yelled in my direction as she hurriedly jammed things into her trunk.

"Check the coat tree," I told her from my bed. Alicia had just finished packing, and was sitting on her trunk in an attempt to shut it.

"Maddison, we're going to be late," she said anxiously.

"You've got plenty of time," I told her. "Enjoy Christmas, you two."

"Two weeks of home?" Maddison asked incredulously. "Of course we'll enjoy it. Shut, you" – this to her trunk – "and _stay_ shut. Alicia, you ready?"

"Yeah," she replied, grasping her drunk and dragging it to the door. "Have a good holiday, Lydia."

"You too," I said, waving as they left. The moment the door shut, I felt an odd sense of loneliness. The room was quiet and mostly neat; it was strange not to hear someone else's breathing.

"Well," I told the air, "Cameron and Evan will be with me. So it isn't like I'll be alone or anything. Not completely. Anyway, there's plenty to do, right? Like cleaning my part of the room. And watering my plants." That said, I jumped up to make my bed.

I made the four-poster bed, watered all my plants (and fed the non-carnivorous ones), and threw all my dirty laundry – and some of Maddison's – down the laundry chute. Once our room was neat, I was again bored (and a little lonely).

"'Morning, lass," said Lord Byron cheerfully from his frame.

"Hello, sir," I replied.

"I've never seen you quite so energetic when it comes to tidying up. Is anything wrong?"

"I'm just lonely," I confessed. "Maddison and Alicia just left for break, and I can't think of anything to do. I feel really… restless."

Lord Byron smiled at me. "That's perfectly normal. You can't be the only one here for the holidays; go find some of your friends. They're probably feeling just as odd as you are."

" Lydia!" Cameron called, bounding into the common room three days before Christmas. I was sitting by the fire in my pajamas, studying Zach's latest lesson plan and mumbling curses to myself.

"Mm?"

"Evan and I are going into Hogsmeade to go Christmas shopping. Want to come?"

"Sure," I replied with a grin. "Let me go get dressed."

I was dressed in record time, and stood in the middle of my room counting my money. I still had Harry's birthday money, and the money my father had slipped me before the start of term. It added up to just over seven galleons. Whom did I have to buy presents for? My roommates, obviously, and the boys. "Zach," I muttered, "and Lyra."

" Lydia!" Cameron yelled from the common room. "Are you ready yet?"

Laughing, I grabbed a cloak and ran to join them.

"Honeydukes first," Evan directed as we walked down the snowy main street.

"Fine by me," I said, and Cameron nodded.

The three of us wandered into Honeydukes, pausing in the doorway to stare at the mounds of chocolate on the shelves. Evan moved past Cameron and I to a stack of Chocolate Frogs and Peppermint Toads in the middle of the store, and I grinned at Cameron before walking to the counter and peering at the freshly-made fudge behind the glass.

"Can I help you?" a plump, white-haired woman asked me cheerfully.

"Er… could I have a piece of the chocolate fudge, please? Just a small one."

She laughed and cut a generous slice. "Eighteen knuts, m'dear. Enjoy it."

I ate the fudge as I wandered through the rest of the store. Aaron, Adrian, Zach, and John would be perfectly content with candy, I thought – who didn't like sugar, after all? – and Honeydukes was having a sale on Pepper Imps and squeaking sugar mice.

Remembering Aaron's love of revenge, I picked up a few packs of Acid Pops on my way to the register.

"This all?" the girl behind the counter asked.

"Yeah."

"Total's one galleon, six sickles and eleven knuts."

Wordlessly, I handed over the money and took the bag of sweets.

"Let's go to Scrivenshaft's," Evan said on our way out.

"What for?" Cameron asked.

"They've got quills and parchment and stuff. I thought I'd get my cousin one of those quills that takes dictation."

"What does your cousin do?" I asked.

"Robin's like a… traveling ambassador. She lives in Britain but she travels all over the world and tries to convince foreign wizards to listen to us."

"Sounds fun," Cameron said with a grin as we entered the quill shop. It was divided sharply in half: one side housed normal, adult-looking quills, reams of creamy parchment, and inks in standard colors. The other half nearly screamed. There were stacks of parchment in loud colors – some were even shiny – and quills made from every kind, color, and size of feather. Bottles of ink stood on one wall: some sparkled, some shined, and some changed color. I walked to a rack of strangely patterned quills in unnatural colors. I decided to buy one in lime green with bright blue zigzags and another, this one white with orange polka-dots, both for Evan. Then I looked at the bottles of ink. Alicia still didn't have any erasable ink – her homework papers were full of blotches – and I picked out three bottles for her: one jade green with sparkles, one that looked black but supposedly shone in the dark, and one in bubble-gum pink.

"Where do you need to go next?" Cameron asked as I paid.

"D'you think there's a bookstore around? I need to get Lyra something."

Cameron frowned, and Evan shook his head at me. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"She's my _friend_. Drop it, okay?"

They shrugged at each other. "Bookstore's just down the street," the shopkeeper told us.

"I'm starving," Cameron announced around two. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Let's get lunch, then," Evan said.

"I'm practically broke," I confessed. "It's going to have to be somewhere cheap."

Cameron nodded in agreement, but Evan shook his head. "My cousin feels awful about leaving me alone on Christmas, right? So she sent me thirty galleons to allay her guilt. Let's go to the Three Broomsticks – my treat."

Cameron and I exchanged glances, and then shrugged in agreement. "Lead on," Cameron told him.

We reached the Three Broomsticks in high spirits. The three of us ordered butterbeer, and after a whispered consultation, three large bowls of stew.

"I love Christmas," Cameron said as he sipped his butterbeer. "I love the smell of Christmas trees and snow."

"Snow doesn't have a smell," I told him. "It's just water."

"It does so have a smell."

"No it doesn't. Water doesn't have a smell."

"It does too! And snow has a different one!"

"That doesn't even make sense!" I protested. "Evan, tell him he's crazy!"

Evan looked at the two of us and rolled his eyes. "If water doesn't have a smell, then how do animals find it in the middle of nowhere?"

Cameron stuck out his tongue at me, and I gulped down my butterbeer, refusing to concede.

"Where does Christmas come from, anyway?" I asked finally, to change the subject. "Did someone just decide on a day where everyone should get presents?"

Cameron looked at Evan, who shrugged. "It's some weird Muggle thing. They think that their god was born today, or something."

"Weird," I said, as Cameron asked, "Wait, what's a god?"

"All-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, and benevolent," I explained.

"That doesn't even make sense," Cameron protested.

"Do all Muggles believe in it?" I asked Evan.

"In god?"

"In Christmas."

"I don't think so," he said doubtfully. "I think they all have different gods."

"Hey, isn't she in our year?" I asked, pointing to a red-headed girl in a sky-blue cloak. She was sitting alone in the corner, sipping from a tall, foaming mug.

"Yeah," Cameron said. "Something-or-other Wilson."

"Marissa," Evan corrected. "Should we ask her to sit with us?"

"Sure," Cameron replied with a shrug. "I'll go ask."

Evan and I watched as he stood and sauntered over to Marissa and leaned down to talk to her. After a moment, she stood up and they both came back to our table.

"Hi," she said quietly. "Finishing up your shopping?"

Evan and I nodded. "Sit down," Cameron invited, pulling up a chair. "What've you been doing?"

"Just shopping," she said. "I wanted some candy, and I went into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, just to look around. My parents wouldn't let me near it at home."

Cameron smirked. "They couldn't keep me away."

"Are you three staying over holidays?" she asked.

"Obviously," Evan told her. "We wouldn't be here otherwise."

She laughed. "I was going to ask if maybe we could get together to practice the Tickling Charm before term starts. There's no one in my house to practice with."

The three of us looked at each other before nodding. "Sure," I said. "That sounds really… fun." Inwardly, I was shocked, and I was sure the others were too: even Ravenclaws weren't likely to offer to work with three Slytherins. Almost without thinking, I took out a huge piece of chocolate and split it into four pieces. "Want some chocolate?"

* * *

A/N: I don't own Harry Potter, my betas are amazing, and I love reviews. Happy holidays! 


	12. Christmas Day

Chapter Twelve: Christmas Day

Chapter Twelve: Christmas Day 

After dinner on Christmas Eve, I shut myself in my room to wrap presents. I wrapped the candy first, wrote out cards, and then turned my attention to the rest of my gifts. Lyra's book (_Beating the Odds: the First Woman Beater in Professional Quidditch_) was easy to wrap. _You're going to be even better than she was,_ I wrote inside the cover. _Merry Christmas._

Cameron's hat, which read _Vindictive!_ in large flashing letters, was also easy to wrap, but Evan's quills were nearly impossible. Every time I managed to get the paper halfway around them, one quill would pull itself free and poke me in the face. I finally just gave up and tied them together with a wide silver ribbon.

I finished wrapping just as the bells chimed eight o'clock and jammed all the parcels into my bookbag, with Maddison's necklace on top. Holding the bag shut, I headed to the Owlery to send them.

"Sending Christmas presents off?" Cameron asked as I got there.

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I just sent the last owl out. I hate Christmas," he grumbled.

"I've heard the Christmas Feast is amazing," I told him hesitantly. "And we don't have classes for two weeks."

"Everyone else gets to go home."

I swallowed. "Yeah, but it's more fun to stay here. Everyone else just has to go back to—to bedtimes and eating vegetables and everything. Who wants that?"

Cameron looked up at me, startled, and then he laughed. "You're right. We can stay up all night."

"And sleep all morning."

"And open all our presents at once."

"And eat all our candy before breakfast!" I finished.

OOOOOO

Even with all our cheerful words, no one seemed to want to sleep that night. There were only two other students staying: Alexis Newbury was tall, with frizzy brown hair and a constant smirk, and Jonathan Reinhart was short and stocky. He laughed at Alexis's sarcasm all night as he pulled at his straight, sandy hair.

"So why are you here?" he asked the three of us as we sat in front of the fire. Evan, head buried in a musty book, ignored him, but Cameron answered.

"I couldn't bear to leave the dungeons for two entire weeks. I had to beg my family to let me miss all the festivities, but they agreed it was probably best for my well-being to allow me to remain." He looked at Jonathan with a straight face, and waited until he looked away to wink at me.

"And look," Alexis proclaimed, "half past ten and Professor Snape appears, right on schedule."

"Schedule?" I echoed.

"Every Christmas Eve, he brings us cookies and butterbeer," she explained mockingly.

"Enough of your sarcasm, Miss Newbury," Professor Snape told her, "or I'll stop coming."

"You'll never do that," she told him. "You love us too much."

He rolled his eyes and passed around steaming mugs of butterbeer. Evan shut his book and accepted one as I passed around the plate of thick sugar cookies.

"What are you reading, Mr. Rookwood?"

"Um…Rocklin's _Founded to Fall_." He hesitated. "It's about the four Founders, and how…well, how they fell apart."

"And how does Rocklin treat Salazar Slytherin in all of this?" Professor Snape sneered.

"I don't know. I haven't gotten there yet."

"Pay attention when you do," Professor Snape advised. "Mr. Viridian? Miss Carmichael? What did you think of your first term at Hogwarts?"

"I like it," Cameron said decidedly. "But I wish we would do something in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Perhaps Rufford is simply trying to protect you," Professor Snape remarked with only a little sarcasm.

"Perhaps," Alexis echoed. "Because Merlin knows we'd be safer without thinking about it. And when, say, we meet a dementor…"

"We just tell it we aren't authorized to see it yet, of course," Jonathon finished. "And, because Dark creatures agree with the Ministry, it'll just go away."

"After apologizing profusely, no doubt," Professor Snape remarked dryly.

"No doubt," I repeated. "How much of it's Ministry orders, and how much is Vector? And how much is just Rufford?"

Professor Snape gazed into the fire for a moment before answering. "The Department of Wizarding Education has suggested that only strictly defensive matter be taught in Britian."

"That's dumb," Cameron interjected.

"The Headmistress," he continued, "has made her wishes clear. She would prefer that her students remain free from the 'taint of Dark magic while at an impressionable age.' Unfortunately, she seems to believe that learning anything practical will drive you all into evil…."

"That doesn't make sense," Evan said slowly. "Wouldn't the best way to be to actually teach us something? Instead of making us go out and learn it on our own, from, erm, questionable sources?"

"The higher you get in life, Mr. Rookwood," Professor Snape said wryly, "the less use you will have for logic."

OOOOOO

I woke up early Christmas afternoon to see a pile of presents at the foot of my bed. Cheering, I jumped out of bed and reached for the closest package I could find. It was wrapped in bright blue paper, and the tag read _Hope you're enjoying vacation…_with Zach's name scrawled below. I tore off the paper to reveal a thick paperback book entitled _Self-Defensive Spellwork_. The note on the inside cover read:

_Lydia__ – _

_You must be bored at school over the holidays. I know I'm bored here with my parents. I thought this book might help. The first six chapters give you a nice review of what we've already done, and the next three will help you with what we're doing next. Happy holidays! _

_--Zachary C. Wenlock _

I laughed out loud. That was Zach – making me study even during the holidays. The next few presents were small: chocolates from Adrian; a large furry hat, which constantly recited limericks, from John; a small box of tea from Evan; Fever Fudge and Extendable Ears from Aaron and Cameron.

The largest box was from Alicia and Maddison. After I tore off the glittery purple paper, I saw a carved wooden box with two snakes intertwined on the top. I opened it to see a jewelry box lined in hunter green velvet. Inside was a note, and, under it, a silver necklace with a jade pendent and matching earrings. I scanned the note. It was written in Maddison's neat cursive but read like Alicia's:

_To our favorite Slytherin roommate – _

_Time for you to start showing more pride for your house! Wear more green, more silver, more black! Throw out your red hair ribbons! Have an awesome holiday – don't let Cameron and Aaron blow up our room – sleep a lot! Merry Christmas! _

_Alicia and Maddison _

I laughed as I removed the first shelf of the box to see a large assortment of hair ribbons. "It's not my fault I have to wear my hair tied back all the time!" I protested to the air. "It gets unmanageable otherwise! It's too long and too curly to wear loose!"

No one answered, but I hadn't expected anyone to, and I turned to one of only two other gifts – Lyra's turned out to be a large collection of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs (_They're the best fireworks in the world! _she'd written), and Harry's large envelope contained fifty galleons and a pair of gold earrings, which I immediately placed in the jewelry box. Then I dressed and read Alicia's old copies of _Teen Witch Weekly_ until the Christmas Feast.

OOOOOO

By the time the time I walked into the Great Hall, the rest of the school had already gathered. Evan waved me over to sit between him and Alexis at the sole table.

"How lovely of you to join us, Miss Carmichael," Vector greeted me.

I nodded back at her and smothered a laugh as Evan poked me under the table. "I lost track of time," I confessed, staring around at the Hall. Warm snowflakes fell from the ceiling, and enchanted harps played along the walls. In one corner stood a Christmas tree easily five times my height, and it was covered in tinsel and lights.

"What were you doing?" Professor Flitwick asked me.

"Just some reading," I told him, carefully omitting that the last article I read had been entitled "Dazzle Your Date: Thirty Charms to Clear Your Complexion."

"Pass the potatoes?" Alexis asked me, and from there, conversation progressed to presents and plans for the rest of the holidays. The three Gryffindors and one Ravenclaw (I didn't know any of their names) planned on Quidditch practice; a Hufflepuff girl wanted to spend her week in the greenhouses; Alexis needed new dress robes (Jonathan offered to accompany her); and Marissa, Cameron, Evan, and I planned on studying.

The meal lasted, easily, several hours. Finally, over dessert, the sole Hufflepuff asked about personality quirks.

"I, for instance," she explained, "can communicate with trees. I know if they're happy."

"You can _tell _if a _tree _is _happy_?" Cameron demanded.

"Yeah, sure. My aunt can, too."

"Well, I'm in the wrong century," a fourth-year Ravenclaw boasted. "I'm really supposed to be in the Victorian age, or Regency England, or something. Someplace…elegant."

"I would not presume to say that elegance is gone, Miss Logan," Professor Snape drawled.

"But it is!"

I rolled my eyes at Evan, and he smirked. "Elegance is nowhere near gone. Look at the old Pureblood families – I don't think you could get closer to elegance, especially some of the Halloween balls."

"No kidding," chimed in a Gryffindor. "Mum took me to one a few years ago. It lasted _forever_ and I had to wear the most uncomfortable robes."

"No doubt you were too young to appreciate it," Professor Snape told him.

"Now, Severus, they aren't for everyone," Vector said gently.

"Nothing's for _everyone_," Cameron told her irritably. "Ready to go, guys?"

With that, the three of us stood, and Marissa Wilson followed us out of the Great Hall.

* * *

A/N: I still don't own the Potterverse. Haleth Aldea and Ambika-San beta-ed this for me (a good thing, too, because this chapter was awful…). Please review, please don't flame, I promise to reply. 


	13. Goblin Rebellions

Chapter Thirteen: Goblin Rebellions

"So, why are you getting extra Defense tutoring, exactly?" Cameron asked as we sat in the library three days before the New Year.

I shrugged. "I need it."

"How can you need it?" Evan asked me in confusion. "We've only learned two spells, and we've all managed them."

I paused to think. I didn't want to admit that I was getting special attention just because I was friends with Lyra – in fact, Zach had _told _me not to – but I also didn't want anyone getting the impression that I wasn't smart enough to manage two spells. I took a deep breath, weighed both sides, and spoke.

"It's because of Lyra."

Cameron and Evan stared at me.

"Prefects are afraid I'll get jumped," I muttered, looking at my open book (_Self-Defensive Spellwork,_ chapter three).

"You probably will," Evan said after a moment. "They obviously hate that the two of you are so close."

"I still don't get that," Cameron complained. "I mean, so what if you're a Slytherin and she's a Gryffindork? You're friends, that's all."

I smirked. "The funny thing? If no one had said anything, we probably would've drifted apart really fast… but I think we're too stubborn to stop just because someone wants us to."

"So you're best mates then?" Evan asked.

"Sure."

We were silent for a long time, and then Evan looked over his green-and-blue quill at us. "That essay for Flitwick? Have you two done it yet?"

"Not yet," Cameron said, and I shook my head.

"Well, he wants two feet on Locomotion Charms…have we even done those?"

"They're in chapter ten," a girl said from behind me. I looked up to see Marissa Wilson, a stack of books in her arms. "Can I sit down?"

"Sure," I told her. "There's plenty of room."

"Chapter ten?" Evan repeated. "Oh…that makes sense…I remember them now."

"I have my notes," she said after a moment, "if you want to see them."

"That would be excellent," he replied, reaching across the table. "Less work for me."

"Academic integrity, anyone?" Cameron muttered, as he snuck a look at Evan's (annotated) history text.

"Can I ask a favor?" I asked, looking up around them.

"Sure."

"Go for it."

"…You can _ask_."

"Zach gave me a bunch of curses to try – fun ones, kind of – but I need to practice them on someone…"

Marissa looked up, "If you'll teach them to us first, and some way of blocking them."

Cameron smirked. "Yes, Defense tutoree. Impart your amazing knowledge to us."

OOOOOO

"No!" I yelped as sparks flew from Evan's wand. "It's Parma, and careful with the a!"

"Sorry!"

Marissa touched her slightly singed hair. "You didn't tell me I might burn my hair."

"It'll be fine," I told her, examining it closely for a moment.

"Oh, I'm not worried. I don't care about my hair."

"I thought that was all girls cared about," Cameron said after a reflective moment.

Marissa and I exchanged frowns. "Excuse me?" she asked after a moment.

"Er…"

"Tarantallegra!" we cried together, and Cameron squeaked as the curse made him waltz across the room.

Evan stood up and brushed his robes off. "I am sorry about that, Wilson."

"No worries, Rookwood."

"Finite Incantatem!" Cameron managed to yell in the middle of a particularly difficult spin, made even worse because he was without a partner.

"Enough for today, maybe?" I asked the other three.

"Definitely," Cameron replied, sounding relieved.

"Can we do it again, though?" Marissa asked. "It's easier to study in a group."

"Friday?" Evan suggested. "About noon?"

"I'll be there," Marissa promised.

OOOOOO

I woke up Saturday morning feeling awful. "This _isn't fair_," I told the canopy as I rolled out of bed. "I'm an awesome person. I deserve parents."

"Everyone does," came Lord Byron's cheerful voice from above my head. "What's wrong, lass?"

"My parents didn't send me a Christmas present," I told him bitterly. "I hate them."

"You don't mean that," he said quietly.

"I do so. I hate them. I want them to die."

He was silent.

"I _do_. I'm their _daughter_. Their _only _child. They should love me and spoil me and… and invite me home for Christmas…"

"It will take time, lass."

"But I don't want to wait, sir. I want them back."

"The world isn't fair, lass."

I glared at him. He smiled back.

"How long will it take, then?" I asked, near desperate.

"I'm sure if you talked to them—"

"I don't want to talk to them, Lord Byron! I don't want to go back and admit that I was wrong for being a Slytherin, for _existing_! I'm _not wrong_. I'm happy, and I love my house, and… and screw them!"

After a long moment, "Maybe you're right, lass, but I'm sure they'll come to their senses. You're an amazing girl – they should be _proud _to have you as a daughter."

"I wish someone would tell them that," I muttered.

"Go find some cocoa," he told me. "It'll cheer you up."

"Where do I get cocoa?"

"The kitchens. The house-elves make the best cocoa in Europe."

"Oh," I said. "Thanks."

I made my way to the kitchens (only getting lost twice), and spent three minutes trying to tickle the pear in exactly the right place. Finally, the door swung open, and I walked to a large oak table in the middle.

The kitchens were huge – almost monstrously so – and a small army of house-elves stood inside, washing and cooking. They were all dressed in pressed pillowcases – except for two, one in a stained skirt and blouse, and the other in an old overcoat. One of the pillow-clad house-elves approached me, smiling.

"Can Mixy get Miss anything?" she asked me as I sat down.

"Some hot chocolate, please?" I asked nervously.

In two minutes, a towering mug of cocoa, topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup, was placed in front of me, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies followed it immediately. I sipped at my cocoa and slowly ate my way through the cookies. When the plate was half-empty, the kitchen door burst open, and Cameron and Evan ran in, followed closely by Marissa.

"Rookwood! Viridian! I'll hex you both, I will!" she screeched, waving her wand in their general direction.

"Sure you will," Cameron replied, laughing. He pulled out the chair next to me and sat down, grabbing a cookie. Evan sat next to him, and Marissa collapsed, finally laughing, into the chair on my other side.

"What was that all about?" I asked the three of them, passing around the plate of cookies.

"Those two" – Marissa glared at Evan and Cameron – "attempted to re-singe my hair. So I had to retaliate."

"You tried to curse me!" Cameron yelped.

"You burned my hair!"

"It was already burned!"

"You burned it more!"

I rolled my eyes at Evan, and he shrugged back. "Anyway," I interrupted after several moments of bickering, "what else is going on?"

"I still have to write the History of Magic essay," Marissa said. "I don't want to. I think the Goblin Wars are the most boring thing ever."

Evan stared at her in shock. "The Goblin Wars? _Boring_? They aren't boring!"

"Uh, Evan, are we in the same class?" Cameron asked, looking a little horrified.

"I don't know anything about the Goblin Wars anyway," I told Evan. "Binns puts me to sleep every class."

Evan looked around at us. "Are you _serious_? We're doing the most interesting wars in history, and you fall _asleep_?"

"Evan. They're boring."

He took a deep breath in. "They are _not _boring. See, Orik the Ugly, he was the chief goblin at the time, and he wanted to be equal with humans – goblins were basically animals back then, still are, I guess – and he started taking wizard children hostage, and sometimes Muggle children as well. And Orik threatened to kill all the hostages unless the goblins were given magical protection, and their ancient rights. So the wizards went to go rescue the kids, but some of them would refuse to come back—"

"_Why_?" Marissa asked, sounding unconvinced. "Who'd want to stay with goblins?"

"Captives never want to be rescued," Evan explained. "It's some sort of weird survival tactic."

"That doesn't make any sense," I retorted.

"Sure it does," he told me. "Anyway. Point being, the kids didn't always want to come back. Some of them had been living with the goblins for _years_ when they were finally found, and they'd gotten used to goblin life. So they wouldn't return, and they'd have to be kidnapped back—"

"Binns never told us any of this," Cameron protested.

"Well, it happened. And it got worse and worse, because no one knew what to do with these children who just wanted to be goblins, and who wanted the wars _over_. Soon, there were humans fighting with goblins, and humans fighting against other humans, and parents fighting against their children. And finally, Orik was killed in a crazy assassination attempt, and his son, Golump the Nasty took over, and he rounded up all the children and told them to go home to their parents, but they refused. And so he entered into negotiations with the leader of the Wizards' Council, and they agreed to a treaty, giving the goblins back most of their rights."

"And that was it?" I demanded. "They just obeyed the treaty and lived happily ever after?"

"Only for about ten years. Then their rights started to get taken away again, and so Golump started an all-out war. This was about 1612. And the goblins' headquarters for the war was in the inn at Hogsmeade—"

"How'd they pull that one off?" Cameron asked, intrigued.

"The owner used to live with them, or something. So he was sympathetic; he wanted goblins to be equal to humans. Anyway, they started a really, really brutal war that lasted for about five years, and the goblins managed to win a couple decisive battles, so the Wizards' Council finally agreed to re-negotiate the peace. At that point the goblins seized Gringotts, took control of the money, and refused to leave. The Council was forced to let them stay in control of all currency—"

"I'd've taken back the bank," I interrupted.

"You wouldn't have been able to," Evan continued impatiently. "The goblins knew what they were doing, and plus they had all the gold. They were dangerous. So they got to keep the bank, and now goblins mint all the money, too. You can't mess with them."

"But what about the kids?" Marissa asked as she reached for the last cookie.

"That's how you get half-goblins," Evan explained. "No one ever gave them anything either."

"That's really stupid," Marissa said quietly. "Who cares if people are part goblin?"

"Yeah, seriously," Cameron agreed. "Can we get some more cookies?"

* * *

A/N: I don't own the Potterverse. I also don't own the term "Gryffindork." Ambika-San and Haleth Aldea beta-ed it for me; I love them a lot. 

Please, please, please – don't steal! And review! There are over 700 hits on this story…please, guys, I'm begging for reviews here…if you review a lot, I might give you a cameo…does that help?


	14. Into the Forest

Chapter Fourteen: Into the  Forest

The first week in April was warm and only slightly breezy. I woke up that Friday to see Maddison carefully folding her cloaks and placing them into her trunk. "What are you doing?" I asked sleepily.

"Putting my cloaks away. It's too warm for them." And then, as she was leaving the room, "We've got herbology in ten minutes. You slept through breakfast."

I jumped out of bed and looked at the clock – the time was 8:46 – as I scrambled around to find my robes. It was just like Maddison to leave it until the last minute to tell me I'd slept late, and then not to wait for me to dress. Luckily, though, Professor Sprout was a pushover; where any other teacher would assign detention for even a few minutes' tardiness, she would wave it away as on of what she called "those days." So I wasn't surprised when she waved me aside with a smile as I explained, gasping for breath, that I'd overslept.

I found a place next to Marissa and tried to look attentive while I caught my breath. "Today," Professor Sprout started, "I'm spreading you out. Spring's just beginning, and that means there's plenty for you to do. I'll split you into groups of four – that's what, five groups? – and two groups can work in this greenhouse. The other three will be outside." She surveyed us critically. "Well? Count off!"

OOOOOO

"So why were you late?" Cameron asked me curiously as we clipped back thorny night-rose bushes.

"I overslept. I guess I forgot to set my alarm or something."

"It's a good thing we've got Sprout, then, and not Rufford or someone," Max O'Sullivan told me, and I nodded fervently, almost bumping into Pernella Rosewater as I did. Under normal circumstances, the eight of us would have tried to stick together; but something about the Ravenclaws – or about herbology – made mixed groups work out. I knew Pernella a little bit; she was good friends with Marissa. Max, on the other hand, was something of a loner, and none of us talked to him unless we had too. The four of us worked side by side near the Forbidden Forest, talking and sneaking looks at the dark woods.

"Why's it forbidden, anyway?" Cameron demanded.

"It's dangerous," Pernella told him as she pushed her hair out of her face.

"If it were that dangerous, then it would be fenced off," he retorted, and Pernella shrugged. "I wish we could go in," he added.

"We'd get in so much trouble. And Sprout would go nuts," I protested.

Max took off his hat, smiling. "It's a learning experience," he said thoughtfully. "Breezy out, isn't it?"

We nodded, not understanding the connection, and Max tapped his hat with his wand and muttered a charm. The hat sailed off into the trees. "Well?" he said, looking at us. "Don't tell me you're going to let me go in there alone!"

"Max, you can't!" Pernella cried, but she ran after him. Cameron followed her, and I stared between them and the roses before finally dashing after them into the trees.

OOOOOO

The forest frightened me, and I kept one hand on my wand and the other on the giant clippers. Max led the way, hat back on his head, and he and Cameron bickered about which route to take. Pernella looked about as frightened as I felt and moved closer to me as we walked. I held out my hand (the one holding the clippers) and she grasped it (and the clippers).

"I don't think this is a very good idea," I said finally, after we'd been walking for what seemed like ages. Every time leaves rustled in the wind or a stick snapped, I jumped about a foot in the air, and Pernella gripped my hand that much harder. The boys had started bragging early on about how brave they were; now, the two of them acted as if the idea of leaving the forest was a complete anathema. Nothing I could say would change either of their minds.

"Please, let's go back," Pernella pleaded. Her voice shook slightly, and that might have been what changed Cameron's mind (lately, for some reason, girls only had to whimper a little and he would drop everything he was doing to "make it better"), for he immediately turned around and looked at her with concern.

"O'Sullivan, if the girls don't want to stay, then we go in," Cameron said decisively.

"Scared, Viridian?"

"Not as much as you; now, let's go." He and Max glared at each other for a few seconds; finally, Max turned and we started back towards the castle. We'd been walking for about fifteen minutes when we ran into the edge of a marsh.

"This shouldn't be here," I said nervously. "We've made a wrong turn somewhere."

"I can see the castle," Cameron replied, "so we can't be that far off. It's straight ahead—"

"We can't go through the water," Max protested angrily. "You have no idea what's in there."

"We can't go around it," Cameron retorted. "It's way too big. We'll get lost again. Besides, I don't think the water's too deep. There're plants poking up all over."

"Let's vote on it," Pernella suggested. "I say we go through. Cameron?"

"Definitely."

"No way," Max told her.

" Lydia?" she asked me, and I shrugged.

"Let's go through. I don't want to be here all day."

So the four of us started through the muddy marsh. The water was just over ankle-deep and freezing cold, and Max complained angrily all the way. After fifteen minutes of sloshing through the water, Pernella let out a sharp scream.

"What?" Cameron asked, turning around. "What happened?"

"My ankles," she cried, and lifted one foot out of the water; her ankle, just above her shoe, was bleeding from a ring of small puncture marks.

"What the hell?" Max demanded, looking more closely. "Did you see it?"

"No! I don't know what happened! But it _hurts!_" she wailed, near tears. The four of us turned around quickly, trying to see something – anything – lurking beneath the water. I could see a few rotting logs floating nearby, and farther down the water rippled slightly.

"We can't keep going," I said. "She can't walk. We need help."

Cameron and Max nodded slowly. "I'll send up red sparks," Max offered. "That should get someone's attention."

Professor Sprout found us half an hour later. We were sitting at the edge of the marsh, where we'd first gone in. Pernella had both shoes and socks off, and was struggling to hold back tears; we'd bandaged her ankles up with Max's handkerchief, but they still seemed to hurt a lot.

Sprout was angrier than I had ever seen her. Her face was red, and her eyes looked dangerous. "What, exactly," she hissed at us, "were you thinking?"

"His idea," Max muttered, with a nod at Cameron, as Cameron said, "Pernella's hurt."

Professor Sprout glared at the three of us, her expression only softening a little as she knelt to examine Pernella's ankles. "Where were you, in the marsh?"

Pernella nodded. "We were t-trying to get to the c-castle," she explained.

"Idiot girl," Sprout muttered, "you've no idea what lives in that swamp. Looks like you ran into a dugbog." Her face didn't invite questions, so we were silent as she healed Pernella's cuts with a few spells, and we stayed quiet on the long walk back to the castle. Professor Snape was waiting with Flitwick at the door.

OOOOOO

All things considered, Cameron and I escaped relatively unscathed. Snape lectured us in his most terrifying manner for an hour, and we had a month's worth of detention, plus four feet on dangerous and deadly creatures in the forest.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood and you're in my house," he'd concluded the lecture. "Otherwise, I'd have you both expelled."

"Don't worry about it," Zach advised me during our next Defense tutoring session. "Snape won't stay mad, not at you two. It's only Gryffindors he hates for life."

"Great," I said. "I'm friends with a Gryffindor. And after this, I guess Pernella and I are friends, too."

Zach laughed. "Relax, Lydia. Snape's got way too much to worry about without throwing you into the mix. And besides, Ravenclaws are fine, if not particularly practical. Hey, I heard a rumor that you might get to learn a few curses in class."

"Really?"

"Nope," he told me, grinning. "Now, show me that defense charm we were practicing last week."

* * *

A/N: Hey guys…I'm finally back (heh). It's only been, what, two and a half months? I've got an excuse, though – my keyboard died twice (keyboards and liquids really don't mix), earning me the wrath of my father and the scorn of the tech guys at school; plus my school flooded and we were evacuated, meaning we had to scatter and go home. And everyone knows it's easier to write at school…. 

As always, I don't own Harry Potter or anything else belonging to JKR's universe. Lydia and company are mine, all mine…so don't steal them. Ambika-san and Haleth Aldea betaed (betad?) this for me, so lots of thanks to them.

If anyone's interested in beta-ing this fic, I'd love another beta. Four lovely and wonderful people currently edit this for me, but they are often busy and so generally do not all get a chance to go over any given chapter. So another person would be awesome...if you're at all interested, email/message me or mention it in your review, and I'll send along the next chapter and we'll see.

Review? Please?


	15. Fireworks

Chapter Fifteen: Fireworks

The night I finished my last detention, Lyra met me as I was walking slowly toward the kitchens in search of something to drink. I was tired – between detention with Snape and studying for finals with Marissa and Evan, I hadn't been sleeping much – and my hand was painfully sore from writing lines ("I will remember that I am a sentient being and therefore capable of thought. I will remember that I am a sentient being…").

"Hey, Lydia," she greeted me cheerfully.

"Hi," I replied. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for you," she explained. "Come on, follow me."

I looked longingly in the direction of the kitchens, then sighed and followed the blonde girl down the corridor. After we'd started climbing our second moving staircase, I asked, "Where are we going?"

"The Astronomy Tower."

"Why?" I asked curiously. It was a popular place for romantic trysts when Professor Sinistra wasn't around, and a girl was rumored to have flung herself out of the tower in a botched attempt at suicide a number of years before (she'd bounced). But I could think of no reason for Lyra and me to be up there, late at night, when we could be asleep.

"It's a surprise," she told me, and wouldn't say another word until after she'd ushered me into the tower (eyes closed) and opened the window. "There," she said finally. "Open your eyes."

I opened them, blinked, and stared at what she held in her hands. "Lyra, is that—"

"A Skybolt? The newest, fastest, best broomstick on the market? My twelfth birthday present? Yes, yes, and yes."

I gaped at it. "But…what's it doing up here?"

"I put it here. Under a concealment charm."

_"Why?"_

"Because it's easier to go out the window, and I owe you a broomstick ride. Remember?"

I nodded slowly.

Lyra grinned. "Okay, then, come on."

I mounted the broomstick with mixed feelings. A year of Madame Hooch's coaxing had helped with my acrophobia, but the idea of a midnight ride on the fastest, lightest broom in England still frightened me.

On the other hand, a _midnight__ ride_ on the _best broom_ in all England!

But I needn't have worried. Lyra was an excellent flier, and the full moon lit up the Quidditch field and surrounding grounds. I held onto her tightly as we swooped low over the lake, screamed as we climbed up to the stars, and gasped in delight when we flew so low over the forest that I could see a unicorn drinking from a tiny stream. We didn't speak during the flight, since the wind roaring in our ears made hearing anything impossible, but I could feel her laughing with joy as we flew towards Hogsmeade.

Far from being dark or quiet, the little village was bustling with activity. The door to the Three Broomsticks constantly swung open to let someone in or out; fireworks in the forms of tiny flowers exploded silently from the roof of the biggest shop. All the lights in Honeydukes were on, and I could see people walking to and fro inside the store.

Lyra landed the broom a few moments later. "What are you doing?" I asked her as we dismounted. "We shouldn't be here. It's got to be close to midnight."

She grinned. "It's my birthday. They're celebrating."

"Celebrating. Your birthday. Uh-huh."

"Okay, fine, so they're celebrating May Day. Let's get something to drink."

"I—wait, Lyra, I don't have any money."

"My treat," she replied, and I willingly followed her into Honeydukes, where the woman behind the counter sold us steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, and then winked at us as she gave us two bags of light chocolate mints and Chocoballs "for the road." Lyra and I drank our hot chocolate outside, in front of the store window.

"I can't believe we're doing this," I said to her with a smile.

"I know….We'd be in tons of trouble if we got caught, wouldn't we?"

"Loads."

As we sipped our cocoa, fireworks exploded in front of us and music played from somewhere just a few buildings down, and I was struck suddenly with the strangest, oddest desire to kiss her.

OOOOOO

If I had expected to walk into an empty common room (it was, after all, approaching two o'clock in the morning), I was mistaken. It seemed as if the entire house was upstairs, clustered around two girls. I recognized Annie Hodgeson, a sixth year prefect with white-blonde hair; the other girl I couldn't see well enough to identify. I slipped by a group of fourth years to sit next to Aaron on the floor by the fire.

"What's going on?" I whispered to him.

"Annie walked in on Henry snogging Heather," he muttered back. I looked up again as Annie started to scream at the brown-haired girl. As she turned to face Annie, I recognized Heather Lewis.

"You're joking," I whispered back to Aaron. Annie and Henry had been dating for almost the entire year; they were perfect together and perfect for each other: both beautiful, smart, and wealthy purebloods.

"Does it look like it?" he murmured, as Heather yelled, "Just because you can't handle rejection!"

"He's _mine_!" Annie screamed back. "He loves _me_! Not some mudblood whore-"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the entire room. Mudblood was the worst, most foul name anyone could use, and Heather had her wand out and pointed at Annie before she could finish her sentence.

"What did you call me?" she hissed.

"I called you a mudblood, you filthy whore. You think we don't know what your mother was? You think we don't _know_ about—"

"You think just 'cause I'm not an inbred snotty bigot, I'm not as good as you are?" she demanded, stepping closer.

"You're the mistake of a mudblood and a werewolf; you're barely human—"

"_Incendio_!" Heather screamed, and Annie stopped yelling to let out a shriek as her beautiful white-blonde hair caught fire and started to burn. Heather folded her arms and smirked in satisfaction.

"_Finite incantatem! Plue!" _Eli Rosier yelled, simultaneously stopping the flames and causing a shower of water to fall on Annie's burnt hair and scalp. "Everyone back to their rooms, now! Hodgeson, Lewis, get into the prefects' common room. Prefects go with them. McHugh, stay where you are. Someone get Snape." He stared around at all of us; no one had moved. "NOW!"

We ran downstairs and into our rooms. Alicia and Maddison had managed to reach our room first; they were sitting on their beds when I walked in.

"I can't believe she said that," I said softly.

"I can't believe she's not even a half-blood," Alicia added. "I didn't think they let people like that into Slytherin."

"People like what?" Maddison demanded sharply.

"You know. Animals."

"Werewolves aren't animals," I told her quietly, thinking of my half-werewolf cousin.

"Neither are Muggles," Maddison added irritably.

"Well….they aren't really, you know, _beings_, exactly. They're different."

"Different," Maddison repeated flatly, as I retreated to my bed. I hated getting between the two of them when they fought.

Alicia nodded. "Different."

"Your Death Eater daddy tell you that?"

"My father wasn't a Death Eater!" Alicia cried, jumping off her bed and stepping towards Maddison.

Maddison only sneered. "If he wasn't a Death Eater, he wouldn't have run off for nine years….Unless of course he just couldn't stand to be around his family—"

"Shut up!"

Maddison advanced until she was only inches away from Alicia. "My mum's Muggle-born, Travers. You say one more thing about that pureblood dogma and I'll make what Heather did to Annie look nice. Got it?"

"You wouldn't," Alicia breathed.

Instead of answering, Maddison twirled her wand in her fingers and then stalked back to her bed and shut the curtains. Alicia stared after her for a long moment before running into the bathroom and slamming the door.

I sat up late that night, trying to understand what had happened. Since I couldn't think of anyone else to talk to, I wrote to Harry and told him about the entire incident. I finished by explaining what bothered me the most:

_Harry, Annie and Alicia both think that being pureblood makes you better somehow, even though Maddison's smarter than Alicia and Heather managed to hex Annie. I don't really care much about what Annie thinks, but Alicia's supposed to be my friend. I'm not really pureblood, though, 'cause Mum's mum was a Muggle, so does that mean she doesn't think I'm really a person? Alicia said something about thinking Muggles weren't really beings. What does that mean? Does she think I'm only three-quarters of a person? I really like her, Harry, and anyway we have to live together for another six years, but how can I be friends with someone who thinks I'm not as good as she is? _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_PS – You're number one on the _Witch Weekly's _Most Desirable Wizard list! Alicia showed me last week. You're on there for "dashing good looks," an "exciting past," and for being "a real-life knight in shining armor, the perfect man to rescue any damsel in distress" – don't you feel special? (Your only downside is the part where you're married with kids.) _

_PPS – Can I come stay with you for part of the summer, maybe? My parents want me to are going away kicked me out _

I stopped and chewed on my quill thoughtfully. I didn't feel like I could explain anything. I didn't feel, somehow, that I even wanted to. So I scratched out the final post script and finished with: _I miss you a lot – can I come stay with you for a while after school lets out? _

I blew on the ink to dry it, then sealed the parchment and turned off the light. If I could stay with Harry for the summer, maybe he could even talk to my parents. Maybe, somehow, the whole bloody mess could be fixed.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, again, I don't own anything JKR does. But if it isn't hers, it's mine, and I will hunt you down if you steal from me. Haleth Aldea, Ambika-san, VercisIsolde, and UMSC 001 looked this over for me – many thanks to them. 

I had some trouble uploading this chapter -- is this happening to anyone else?

This chapter was loads and loads of fun to write, and I hope y'all liked it too…so review and tell me? This entire fic is going to start moving a lot faster – the big stuff happens in year three, and I'm not going to put you through another fifteen chapters to get there.

Review! Please!


	16. End of Term

Chapter Sixteen: End of Term

Harry's reply arrived at breakfast the first day of exams:

_Dear _ _Lydia__ – _

_First, I want to tell you again: there is _nothing wrong _with being a half-blood. Or a three-quarters-blood, in your case. Some of the most powerful witches and wizards haven't been purebloods. I mean, Albus Dumbledore was probably one of the best wizards ever; he wasn't a pureblood. Even Lord Voldemort was a halfblood, and he – as someone once told me – did very great things. Terrible, but great. So try not to worry about it, _ _Lydia__, because it really isn't worth thinking about. Blood and magical ability have nothing to do with each other. _

_As for your friend – well, it seems to me like maybe Maddison's right: Alicia probably did hear a lot of this from her parents, and she's just parroting it back to you now. I don't think she's thought it all the way through, either; she probably isn't used to having faces to put to the labels. It doesn't seem like your friendship is in much danger – just be friendly and courteous. You'll help her see that whatever your family is, it doesn't change what you can become. And even the most pureblooded families can be horrible – just ask your dad. Besides, seven years in Gryffindor? She'll come out knowing the blood doesn't matter. _

I smirked sadly at the page. Lyra thought I should just tell him I wasn't actually a Gryffindor; but it had been almost a year of lying by omission, and I couldn't very well back out now.

_And I'm really, really sorry to have to say this, but (once again) I won't be home for another couple of months. Things here just keep getting weirder and weirder. I promise that whatever happens, I'll make it back for your birthday! _

_And I cannot believe I'm in that magazine. Did they honestly say that about me? Really? I don't believe this. I refuse to believe this. _

_…Really? _

_Love, _

_Harry _

I looked up from my letter to see Zach's eyes on me, and I smiled weakly. "Can I talk to you later?" I asked him.

"What's up?" he replied, holding out his hand for the letter, which I handed over without further comment. "Your godfather's on the Most Desirable Wizard list? Really? That's pretty sweet."

"Zach!"

"Oh. Right. Lydia, does he actually think you're in Gryffindor?"

"Erm…yes?"

Zach shook his head. "I think you ought to come clean. Maybe he can talk some sense into your parents—and anyway, it's not like you can stay with him this summer if he's working in Greenland. Was that your plan?"

"Yeah," I admitted softly. "Mum and Dad still haven't written or anything."

Zach Wenlock tugged on one of my curls in a gesture that might have been meant to be comforting. "Common room tonight at eight, okay? We'll talk."

"Thanks, Zach." I swallowed my tears; no self-respecting Slytherin would cry in the Great Hall, and besides, I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of Zach.

"No problem. Hey, you ready for your exams?"

"Of course. Evan and Marissa and I have been studying for ages."

OOOOOO

I skipped dinner that night to cram for my History of Magic exam. Evan, muttering darkly about "academic integrity" and "people needing to do their own work," had distributed copies of his notes for the year throughout our small circle of friends; unlike Professor Binns, Evan knew how to tell a story, and his summary of the never-ending Goblin Wars was at least interesting. By eight o'clock, I was almost positive I had everything memorized. I was just contemplating taking a study break when Zach sank into the chair next to me.

"How were your exams? What'd you have, herbology and potions?"

"They were fine," I told him. "Herbology's always easy, and potions was okay. He wanted us to make a Forgetfulness Potion, and I'm good at those."

He nodded. "That's lucky. And— Lydia, I hope you don't mind, I asked Eli and Amanda to talk to you about this summer." I was caught between relief that older, more responsible people would be making decisions and anger that they were interfering; they arrived before I managed to figure out which emotion was greater.

"Hello, Lydia, how are your exams coming?" Amanda greeted me; Eli just nodded his head.

"Fine," I mumbled. "But, um, about the summer…"

"Your parents still aren't talking to you, and you can't stay with your godfather," she finished. "Do you have any other family you can stay with? Friends?"

I shook my head. "I don't know my mum's parents, and I don't have any aunts or uncles. Nobody close. And I don't want to—to be a charity case."

Amanda nodded. I'd never quite been able to figure Amanda out; everyone said she was bitter about not being chosen for Head Girl, but I had never seen any of that. Instead, she knew everyone's schedule, heard about everyone's problems, and talked to us as if we were equals. "I understand. My uncle runs the Leaky Cauldron, and he's helped out runaways and such before – he had problem parents, too – and as long as you're willing to work…."

"Yes, no, that'd be great," I stammered.

She smiled at me. "Don't worry, Lydia, everything'll work out."

OOOOOO

The last night of term meant the Leaving Feast: piles and piles of the best food Hogwarts could make, the visible relief of everyone who had passed the exams (plus the jittery laughter of the few who hadn't), and the unbridled excitement of the seventh years, who were now finished with school.

"Yo, Lydia, pass the pumpkin pie," Cameron called over dessert. "What are you doing this summer?"

"Working," I replied. "Amanda's helping me out. What about you? Back to the orphanage?"

"Only for a couple weeks," Aaron answered for him. "Then he's coming to stay with me. Hey, Evan, you want to come for a few weeks?"

"I'll ask my cousin," Evan replied. "But I bet she'll say yes, she's always worried I'm not going to wind up normal--"

"Hey, Lydia," Sarah Portsmouth said, cutting across Evan's answer, "have some more ice cream; it's delicious. What's this about you working in Diagon Alley this summer?"

"Amanda got me a job," I explained, watching Sarah add a generous helping of disturbingly pink ice cream to my plate.

"Sounds fun. I'll come visit you when I get my books – we can practice cursing each other or something."

Even though I knew she wasn't actually serious, I felt an odd thrill go through me. After all, most fifth years didn't even talk to firsties.

At that point the conversation turned to Quidditch, and I tuned out. I was almost asleep when Cameron poked me. "Yo," he said. "Earth to Lydia. The feast is over."

"Oh…right. Thanks." I quickly finished my pumpkin juice. He shook his head, mouthing "crazy, that one," and I followed him back to the dungeons and hurried to finish packing. I still had most of my things strewn around our room; packing meant I would really be leaving the security of Hogwarts, and I was terrified at the prospect.

"Hey," Maddison called out, holding up a silk scarf, "who belongs to this?"

"It's mine," I told her, stuffing it into my trunk on top of robes and books, "and it belongs to _me,_ not the other way around." As I surveyed the room one final time, something on my bed caught my eye. Moving aside the curtains, I saw a small wooden box. There was a sealed envelope on top, bearing a crest I didn't recognize. I broke it open and scanned the letter:

_Carmichael__ – _

_Enclosed are two books on beginning and intermediate potion-making, and some of the more hard-to-find ingredients. Potions does not fall under the Ministry law forbidding underage magic; you should have time this summer to go through them. Whatever happens, you are going to need Snape's support and – more importantly – admiration, and the easiest way for you to manage that is through your skills with a cauldron. _

_Study hard, _ _Carmichael_

_-- Eli Rosier _

I looked into the wooden box, which was filled, as promised, with vials of carefully labeled ingredients and two soft-bound books. It came as a surprise that Eli should care enough to give me anything; it had always been Amanda who talked to me. I was still frowning over the unexpected gift as I placed it into my trunk, added the last of my papers and socks, and sat on the lid to close it.

OOOOOO

The Hogwarts Express left school at exactly eight-thirty the next morning. Cameron, Evan, and I snagged a compartment in the back, and Marissa and Pernella joined us after the train started to move.

None of us was really very popular – although Cameron would probably become popular once we were older, since he and Aaron were such good pranksters – but somehow, the car filled up anyway. By the time we reached the outskirts of London, the compartment had an odd mixture of Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Lyra, who brought Jill Holmes, a Gryffindor girl I didn't know very well. Evan and Jill were playing chess, with Marissa looking on, and the rest of us were engaged in a loud game of Exploding Snap.

"Hey," Lyra said quietly as the train finally rolled to a stop, "you never said where you're going to be this summer."

"Working," I replied. "My parents—well, there isn't anything else to do."

"You could've stayed with me," she said, and I was surprised to hear that she sounded hurt.

"I know, but…not for the whole summer, Lyra. Your parents wouldn't like it, and anyway, I'm going to need money. I can't take charity."

"It isn't charity if it's _friends_," she told me crossly. I didn't answer; Cameron slid the door to the compartment open, and, amid promises to write and visit, we tumbled out of the train and onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

It only took twenty minutes or so for the platform to clear. Lyra came up to me to give me a last hug goodbye ("And if some crazy Death Eater tries to eat you or something, don't say I didn't warn you!"), and Evan came by with his cousin, a tall, dark-haired woman who looked quite dangerous. If a tiny part of me had still been expecting to see my mother and father as the crowd thinned out, it was squashed permanently. I waited for over an hour; then I had to admit that the only thing to do was to head towards the Leaky Cauldron. I had no idea what Muggles might think of an eleven-year-old girl, clad in dark school robes, walking the streets of London, but I couldn't think of any other options.

Standing, I grabbed my trunk with one hand, thankful that it had a built-in lightening charm, and took Perseus's cage with the other.

"Well," I said to him, "I'm a Slytherin, and a Carmichael, and before that a Black, and that means that whatever happens, we should come out on top. Just don't start squawking – I don't think Muggles usually carry owls around with them."

Perseus cooed in response, and the two of us started towards the Leaky Cauldron.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

**A/N: **Right, so…oddly enough, I still don't own any Harry Potter-related things. If I did, this would be cannon and you would have to pay for it. The weird scene changes are due to the horizontal lines not working. :sighs:

The next few chapters have already been written; from it's all going to move much more quickly, because all the awesomely interesting stuff happens in year three, not year two. I'll try and post quickly, but to be honest, no one appears to be reading this – three reviews on chapter fourteen, and none at all on fifteen. I'll keep writing no matter how many reviews, but I have a tendency to get lazy on posting, so…if you like, review! If you don't, review! Criticize! Tell me what worked and what didn't and what you think! Please! I respond to everyone, too, as long as there's an email or you're logged in…

Review! Review! Review!


	17. Summer Days

Chapter Seventeen: Summer Days 

It took me hours to get across London. I was stopped on the way by at least two Muggle police officers, and no less than three Muggle women asked me if I was lost. The Leaky Cauldron was a tiny, grubby looking pub sandwiched between a bookstore and a store that sold Muggle records (these didn't look anything like wizarding records; Muggles apparently kept their important information on large black discs) and something called CDs.

At the door, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and walked in, pulling my trunk after me (it had grown steadily heavier as I walked. I wasn't sure if this was due to the diminishing charm or my definite lack of arm muscle). The bar was dimly lit and shabby; only a few customers occupied the tables. No one was at the bar except for the bartender, a bald, toothless old man.

"You lost, missy?" he asked me, looking concerned.

"No….I was looking for Mr. Armstrong?"

"'Round back. Go through that door" – he pointed to a shadowy doorway to my left – "and take a right."

I followed his directions exactly, finally coming to what looked like a large supply closet. A man in dark blue robes appeared to be counting sets of folded sheets. "Mr. Armstrong?" I asked hesitantly.

He turned around at once and smiled. " Lydia Carmichael?"

"Yes, sir."

He waved one hand in the air. "Call me Matthew. Everyone does. Step into my office, and we'll talk."

By "office", he apparently meant the supply closet; I noticed after a moment that there was a tiny, messy desk in one corner. "Now," he said, "if Amanda is telling the truth, you're in some kind of family trouble and need a job and a place to stay."

I nodded wordlessly.

"You're in luck, then. I just had to let two of my maids go, and we're in a bit of a pinch. Summer's always busy. I – how old are you, Lydia?"

"Almost twelve, sir," I answered.

"Matthew," he corrected. "Well, in that case, I can't have you waiting tables or anything, but we could use a dishwasher, and I'm sure Alley and Danielle would love some help with housekeeping. Normally, I give room and board, and a little money on Saturdays. That acceptable to you?"

"Yes, s—Matthew."

"Excellent. Let's say…a trial run of two weeks, then. Breakfast at seven, in the kitchen, and then you can help with the washing up until…oh, ten o'clock. Guests check out at noon, so if you'll help with the housecleaning until two, and come back down from six 'til eight-thirty or so for washing-up, we'll call it a day. Tea's at four-thirty, and you'll have Sundays off, of course. And twelve Sickles a week pocket money. That sound fair?"

I nodded, and he drew up a rough contract ("Just so everything's above the table."), which we both signed.

"Well, then, I'll take you to your room, and then we'll introduce you around at tea. Of course I won't expect you to start work tonight –"

"No," I interrupted, "I'd like to get started right away."

OOOOOO

Tea was a loud, boisterous affair. Besides Matthew and me, there were five other people sitting around a large oak table in the middle of the kitchen: Ingrid Callahan, the cook; Sonia Armstrong, Matthew's cheerful-looking wife; and Alice ("Call me Alley," she said, "Everybody does"), a tall girl with impossibly straight hair. Sitting next to her was another girl, very pretty, named Danielle. The two of them waited tables and cleaned up the guest rooms. A man named Greg sat on Danielle's other side; he had to be six feet tall, and he looked like he could lift a small house. Danielle called him "Greggie-poo"; I made up my mind not to make him angry.

"So, um, Lydia," Alley said after Sonia loaded my plate with sandwiches and fruit, "you're not, like, pregnant, right?"

I choked on my tea. Sonia said, "Alice!" and Danielle smacked her lightly, but they all seemed to be waiting for my answer anyway.

"Er, no," I replied slowly. "I'm _eleven_."

"I was just wondering," Alley added, a little defensively.

"Ignore her," Danielle told me. "We're glad you're here, because it's all really too much for the two of us, and Sonia is really too busy to help us. And you don't have to tell us why you're here, either."

I smiled hesitantly at her, and she grinned back.

OOOOOO

My tiny room at the Leaky Cauldron was up in the attic, with a sharply sloping roof and a skylight which opened over my bed. It didn't take me long to unpack: clothes in the cherry bureau, books and potions equipment on the shelf, carnivorous plants by the windows (I'd had to leave some of the larger ones with Professor Sprout for the summer). By six o'clock I was on my way downstairs.

The kitchen was crowded with food. Ingrid was bent over a large pot on the stove; Alley ducked in long enough to grab two steaming bowls. Sonia tossed me an apron and pointed at the sink, which was already overflowing with dirty dishes. After tying the apron around my waist, I ran the hot water and started to wash the dishes.

By eight, I had finished most of the washing-up. Only two of the guests remained downstairs ("It doesn't usually get too busy until the end of July," Danielle explained, "and then it gets _crazy_"), and Ingrid had put the leftover food away and was helping me scrub the pots out.

" Lydia," Danielle asked me after a moment, "do you have any—any robes that aren't, well, your school uniform?"

"One or two," I answered her. "Why?"

"It's just that you'll want to save your robes for school. They aren't practical for working, and they'll be too hot."

"I…don't have much money," I told her slowly.

"Get them secondhand," she responded immediately. "And anyway, it'll save wear on your school robes – those are the really expensive ones. When do you get off tomorrow?"

"Um. Two?"

"Okay. I'll take you on Thursday; that's my day off."

OOOOOO

Shopping secondhand, in a small store at one end of Diagon Alley, was much different from shopping at Madam Malkin's or Twillfit and Tatting's. There, I would wait while someone measured me and discussed styles and colors with my mother; all purchases would be sent home later. This store was filled with racks of robes, shelves of hats, and rows of shoes. Following Danielle's lead, I rifled through the robes, pausing every now and again to look more closely at something I liked. Danielle was much faster than I, and had a knack for looking at a set of robes for a split second before saying, "That'll rip easily," or "The color isn't really you." It took hours before we found three summer robes that we both liked: one a light blue-purple, one in acid green ("It's very _now_," Danielle maintained), and one in emerald green. Together, they cost two galleons. I handed the money over regretfully – until I was paid, the only money I had was what was left of Harry's Christmas money.

"There," Danielle said after we'd left, "now you can put your school robes away. They should last you another year, this way, and besides there's no need to announce to the world that you're a Hogwarts student. Come on, let's walk a little faster – if we're late for tea, Greg will eat all the chocolate chip cookies."

OOOOOO

By the end of that week, my days had already settled into the pattern they would follow for the rest of the summer. My clock woke me up at six-thirty with a cheery, "Rise and shine, duckling!" By seven I was dressed and downstairs, where breakfast was waiting. Ingrid made the best sausage I'd ever eaten, and Danielle treated me like a younger sister, giving me background information on all the gossip Alley shared with her. Most of this seemed to revolve around who was sleeping with whom; occasionally Ingrid would decide something wasn't appropriate for me to hear and insist that we start working.

Alley and Danielle waited tables, which meant they got tips and always had something interesting to talk about on their breaks ("Did you _see _the way he was feeling her up under the table?!" Danielle might whisper, as Alley nodded in agreement). I washed all the dishes and let Ingrid feed me small pieces of bacon or biscuit – she thought I was too skinny – and for the most part just tried to stay out of everyone's way. After breakfast I had around two hours to spend in my tiny attic room, mixing up potions and working on the homework we'd been assigned for the summer. Most of the reading was interesting, and the essays were all right, but the potions-making was downright dangerous. I'd already managed to stain my acid-green robes on one sleeve, and I'd almost set the Leaky Cauldron on fire twice brewing some Pepperup Potion. I was always careful to clean up thoroughly and not to mention what I was doing. I didn't want anyone seeing the potions brewing on my dresser and forbidding me from working. Eli had been right: the only possible way I was going to manage was through adult allies, and that meant keeping Matthew happy. It also meant somehow convincing Snape to like me, and that in turn meant succeeding in potions.

Unless of course I blew myself up first.

I met Alley and Danielle downstairs just before noon to start housekeeping. Technically, I was only supposed to clean the empty rooms, but that wasn't always the case. During my first three days, I was threatened by a hag and had to dodge a curse from a snooty-looking witch. After that, Danielle checked the rooms before I went into them.

I spent my afternoons exploring Diagon Alley. The Alley extended for miles, and it was generally crowded; I window-shopped and tried to remain constantly aware. My goal was to return to Hogwarts in September able to do what Zach could do – that is, to always know how many people were around me, and where exactly they were. I spent hours in Flourish and Blotts and the Magical Menagerie, testing myself.

A substantial tea was served at four-thirty each afternoon. That was when Greg arrived – his job was to act as a bouncer of sorts, and make sure that bar fights didn't get out of hand. Alley said he was really rather like a very huggable teddy bear, but I preferred not to get too close anyway.

After tea, Greg moved into the bar and Alley and Danielle started waiting tables; I went back upstairs to read or write letters until I started washing dishes again, around six. I worked until just after eight-thirty – it was a very busy two and a half hours, and neither Alley nor Danielle had a moment to talk to me. Usually, I went straight to bed afterwards, reading in bed for only a few minutes before falling asleep. It was a busy summer, and mostly, I was quite lonely.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: I still don't own the Potterverse. Sorry. Of course, anything JKR doesn't own is mine, and if you steal it…that would just be mean.

Rosiy and Anna (I'm assuming that was you, Bakker?) – thanks muchly for your reviews; I _loved _them (and Rosiy, the next chapter's longer, I promise). Because I _love _reviews. Which is a hint to the rest of you – come on, please? Pretty please? With whipped cream and a cherry?


	18. Owl Post

Chapter Eighteen: Owl Post

_29 June _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_Hello! How's the Leaky Cauldron? Anyone try to eat/hex/strangle/bother you yet? Everything's fine here. My parents are so happy to have me home, they haven't even mentioned my horrendous history grade. How'd you manage to do so well? I heard that _all _the Slytherin first years passed the history exam with flying colors. Did you guys cheat? _

_Daddy's letting me go to the semi-final game for the Quidditch Cup!! He and Papa got box seats through somebody – I forget who, they're always getting stuff anyway – and Daddy got Papa to agree to let me go! It's on July 3rd – that's only five days away! I'm so excited!!! _

_Speaking of my parents…don't flip out, I didn't tell them anything, but if you want I could talk to them about you. And your parents, and all that stuff. I think you should. It's not safe at the Leaky Cauldron, and aren't you lonely? Wouldn't you rather have a normal summer? _

_Anyway, I've got to go. Papa wants me to clean my room. I wish we had a house-elf. _

_Write back! _

_Lyra Wood _

_OOOOOO _

_June 30, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_I miss you a lot. Don't you dare, under any circumstances, tell your parents anything about me. Understand? You can't tell them, you can't even hint_ _at the fact that my parents have disowned me. _

_Besides, I like it here. It's kind of weird, I guess, but it's something to do, and it pays. Plus it's exciting -- I've already been hexed at twice …Don't tell your parents that, either. _

_And I only actually work for like six and a half hours over the day, so it's not that bad. I get to explore Diagon Alley all on my own. Sometime this summer I'm going to sneak into Knockturn Alley, too, and see what they have down there. _

_Hope you have fun at the Quidditch game…not that I know why someone would subject themselves to flying through the air at deadly speeds on a stick just to chase small round objects around…ugh. Flying. At least a flying motorcycle is less flimsy. _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_3 July _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_The game was incredible!!! I don't care what you say about flying (where did you get a flying motorbike? I want one!), it's amazing. Quidditch is my life. I am going to grow up and be the best beater anyone ever saw, and every team will want me, and I'll play for _ _England__ and we'll WIN the Cup for once. _

_How's the Leaky Cauldron going? No more hexes, right? I haven't told my parents anything, but I still think you should. _

_I miss you! Write back! _

_Lyra_

_OOOOOO _

_July 6, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_My godfather has a flying motorbike sometimes. It's scary. Who wants to fly when you can stay on the ground? That's why we have legs and not wings. _

_I hope you become the best beater ever, in the whole world, and play for _ _England__. Also that you don't break your neck. _

_WBS! (Write Back Soon) _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_8 July _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_Nothing interesting is happening at all. Papa and Daddy finally saw my history grade and realized what it was…now they won't even let me fly!! I'm sooooo bored, there's nothing at all to do, and Papa is having another sort-of fight with his family and they won't come over here and we can't go over there, so I don't even have any of my cousins to play with, and I have a lot of cousins. I'm the oldest of all of them, though, and they all have red hair, I'm the only one in Papa's whole family who doesn't (other than Daddy of course, but he doesn't count). Papa says it's cause I'm adopted. But sometimes I think that's why I'm a Wood like Daddy and not a Weasley like Papa. It doesn't seem fair, there aren't nearly as many Woods. _

_There's only Daddy and me, and then Daddy's parents, and Grandfather's sister Olivia, but she's really a Taylor and not a Wood at all. Daddy has a sister too, named Julia; but she's married and lives in _ _France__ or _ _Germany__ or somewhere. I've never met her. _

_Please write to me, there's nothing to do but homework, and I'm not going to do that until I absolutely have to. Although you could tell me how you did so well in History of Magic, you never said! _

_Love, _

_Lyra _

_OOOOOO _

_July 11, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_I don't understand your family tree at all. You should draw a diagram next time. Then I'll understand. But maybe you should ask your parents why you aren't a Weasley. I wish I had cousins like you. It's only my mum and dad, and they aren't speaking to me, and Teddy of course, and my grandmother—but she keeps to herself a lot; I think she's just really sad. And I think my dad's parents might still be alive, but I don't know them. Anyway, my family's all weird and I don't like them. Yours sounds nice. Is that everyone? All the Woods, and then your cousins on the other side? That sounds like a lot. _

_I don't know what you're talking about, about the History of Magic exam. I got good marks because I studied. All the Slytherins did. We had group study sessions. Marissa came. Pernella Rosewater came. You could have come too, only you were off at Quidditch practice. You make it sound like we somehow cheated… _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_14 July _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_I didn't mean to say that you'd cheated! Just that you must have done something to remember it all!!!! _

_My family is (and I'm not drawing a tree because that's too long, so there): _

_Me, Daddy, and Papa. Then Papa has one sister, four brothers, two sisters-in-law, one brother-in-law, three nieces, and five nephews. Plus his parents. Daddy has his parents, his sister, her husband, and his (Daddy's, not the husband's) aunt. And I have a sister, too. Helen. She's 28 and the most amazing sister ever. She lives in _ _London__, but she has a room here and sometimes she stays overnight. She did it more when I was younger. She'd be a good person to talk to, if, you know, you wanted to talk about your nonfamily… _

_Write back! _

_Love from Lyra _

_OOOOOO _

_July 20, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_So, Helen's your non-adopted sister? What about your real parents? _

_Oh! Guess what? I went into Knockturn Alley today! It was so incredibly amazing. I only walked along the street, I didn't go into any of the shops, but there was one that sold these books with the most interesting titles – stuff like, Thought You Were Safe, Did You? and CONSTANT VIGILANCE!, all in capitals, which sounds kind of crazy, doesn't it? But then after a while this man started following me – he looked kind of gross, and I was almost late for tea anyway, so I went back to the Leaky Cauldron. _

_I realized I never told you about the people there! There's me, of course, and then Alison – Alley – and Danielle, who are much older than us, and they are waitresses. Danielle says they're almost out of school, but that they don't go to Hogwarts. I don't know why anyone wouldn't go to Hogwarts, but I didn't want to say that, as she's been so nice to me. Then there's Greg – he's gigantic, over six feet, and he's really strong. He won't tell me what his job is, exactly, just that he "keeps the place safe." So I guess he's my protection against all the evil wizards you think are hiding out here. And there's Ingrid Callahan, the cook – she's very pretty, and she has a very slight accent. I don't know where it's from, but it's very pretty. And then Tom, who's ancient and has no teeth or hair. He runs the bar in the evenings. And then Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong – Matthew, and her name is Sonia – and they own the inn and run it and everything. They're really nice; I like them a lot. _

_Oh, I've got to send this, I'm late for work… _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_23 July _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_Papa and Daddy ARE my real parents. I don't know anything about my mum except that she died, and I have another dad somewhere, but he's never been to see me OR Helen since I was born, and so I don't care about him. My dads are better than he could ever be, anyway. And Helen would have been my adopted sister too, except that when I was adopted, she said she was too old to be adopted, so she just stayed on her own. She's very clever; I think she would have been a Ravenclaw, but she didn't grow up in _ _Britain__. So she's my sister, and Papa and Daddy are her sort-of dads, because they're my dads. Does that make sense? I don't know how to say it more clearly than that. _

_I think the people at the Leaky Cauldron sound nice. Also safe. And you shouldn't go into Knockturn Alley alone!! Next time owl me, and I'll come. I'm stronger than you, and I'll protect us if some weirdo shows up. _

_Lots of love! _

_Lyra _

_PS – History of Magic? Passed? How? (Please, I need to know! Papa says if I don't do better next year he'll take me off the team!) _

_OOOOOO _

_July 25, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_All right, all right! I only passed because Evan explained it all to us, a few times, and then wrote it out so we could study. He's quite good at stories, and he loves history, so it's the perfect combination. Plus, when he's there Marissa and Cameron don't attack each other as much… _

_Anyway, I understand what you mean about your family. I think. Helen's your real sister, your dads are your real dads, and they aren't related. Right? _

_What does your sister do, like as a job? _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_31 July _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_I was thinking. Maybe, what we ought to do next year is a study group. I mean, you said Rookwood was really good at history, and you're doing potions this summer, and Marissa was in Charms with me, she's excellent, and I'm good at astronomy, and Jill (Jill Holmes, do you remember her? She was in our compartment for the train ride) likes transfiguration, and we can find people who like herbology and DADA and everything, and then we'll all be good at everything. Wouldn't that be awesome? Tell me what you think!! _

_Helen is…well, I don't know what she does. Let me go ask, she's downstairs talking to Papa. _

_Here, she says she does a little of everything, but mostly she thinks about things. I don't know what kind of a job that is, but I think it sounds awfully boring. _

_Love, _

_Lyra _

_OOOOOO _

_August 4, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_I think that is the best idea you've ever had. Between us all, we can get good marks in everything, and plus, studying's more fun in a group. You know, you do one answer, I do the other, then we swap… _

_I asked Evan what kind of a job that is, and he says he's never heard of it but that it's what he wants to do, but I agree with you. It's booooring. I mean, thinking's okay and all, and I reckon it would even be fun, a little, but you can't make things happen that way, and that's the fun part. Someday, I'm going to make something happen and it's going to be so big and huge that everyone will say, "Wow, look at _ _Lydia_ _Carmichael__ – isn't she the most amazing person you've ever met?" _

_And I guess you'll be a big important Quidditch star, and people will think, wow, aren't they brilliant? And everyone will love us. _

_But I'm serious…someday, people are going to come to me when they want things to happen. And I'll make sure they do. _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_8 August _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_I guess that's good and all, but I think that it would get very tiring. You'd have to do all sorts of nasty things, I would think, to get stuff to work out right. (Not like that!!!) And wouldn't it just be better to have everyone love you for winning the Quidditch Cup for _ _England__ for the first time in 234 years? Which is embarrassing. Not that I mind it much when, say, Ireland wins instead – but you know, CANADA won last year!! _ _Canada__!! They FLATTENED us when we played against them, 365-10, and then they went and beat _ _Ireland__ for the Cup. I think they cheated. _

_If you're still reading this letter, I'll stop talking about Quidditch. I'll talk about something else. How about…I miss you? I'm very glad to be home, but I miss school and everything. It's so boring without being able to use magic. Papa says I can't break the law and Daddy says he's right, even though I know Daddy used to use it… _

_Love, _

_Lyra _

_OOOOOO _

_August 11, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_Quidditch doesn't mean doing things, not like making them happy. It's just a game, isn't it? I don't see what the big deal is. _

_I miss you too, and school, and especially not having to wash dishes. Mostly I just miss not being the youngest…I mean, I am the youngest at school, but not noticeably. Not like here, where the closest people are almost twenty, and that's like a decade. But only nineteen more days to go! That's less than three weeks! _

_I have to go…Perseus wants to go out hunting, and I'm tired and I don't feel very well. Everything just seems all wrong. I want my mother, Lyra, and I'm so sick of wanting my mother, because she obviously doesn't want me, but—I just want my parents! I don't want to have to work and buy my own books and get myself to the Platform and everything! I just want my mum. And I know I ought to be grateful, because no matter what Matthew says they really don't need an eleven-year-old girl just for summers, he's just doing it because Amanda asked him to, and I should be really, really grateful. But I just want my mum back. _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_12 August _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_The chocolate I sent is Honeydukes' best chocolate. Helen says they make the best she's ever had and that chocolate is the best thing for when you're feeling horrible. It'll help, I promise, just eat it and concentrate on the taste, that's what Helen says. _

_I know I promised not to tell anyone, and I haven't. But I think you've GOT to tell someone about them. I know you're doing okay alone, but…wouldn't it just be easier to tell Harry or something? Then he can talk to your parents, and maybe they'll take you back in. Or at least he could help you! And if you want, I can talk to my parents, or my sister, or SOMEONE. Please just think about it? _

_See you soon! _

_Love, _

_Lyra _

_OOOOOO _

_August 17, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_Thanks for the chocolate; it was amazing. It really helped. I've thought about it – I really have – but I can't tell Harry, don't you see? What if he does the same thing as my parents and then I lose him too? And anyway, I've been telling him all along that I'm in Gryffindor – or, not really telling him exactly, but kind of not telling him that I'm not in Gryffindor and definitely giving the impression that I'm not in Slytherin. So I don't want him to think I don't trust him or anything. _

_DON'T TELL YOUR PARENTS OR YOUR SISTER OR ANYONE, OR I WILL NEVER, EVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _

_I miss you… _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_23 August _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_Don't worry. I won't tell anyone unless you ask me to. I promise. _

_And, _ _Lydia__, you DON'T trust Harry! Otherwise you would TELL HIM! So you might as well do it! Eventually he'll find out, otherwise, and if it's hard now, think how bad it'll be if it's, like, in your fourth year or something. Or what if he tries to surprise you for your birthday and then your parents have to tell him? Wouldn't you rather be the one to do it? _

_Anyway, have you gotten your books and things yet? What are you doing on your birthday? _

_Love, _

_Lyra _

_OOOOOO _

_August 30, 2012_

_Dear Lyra, _

_Ack! He's coming tomorrow! I told him to come to Diagon Alley, I said my parents had an emergency, he's coming to the Leaky Cauldron at noon, and we're going to go celebrate my birthday and I don't know what to do, I want to tell him everything and I don't…I don't know…what if my parents already told him? What if he doesn't come? What if he's really mad, and he hates me, and he never talks to me again? Lyra, I need him, I've got to have someone, I can't lose him and if that means I can't tell him… _

_Oh, this isn't fair. See you day after tomorrow, on the train. None of our new books are interesting…but Zach, he's a fifth year now, he sent me the names of a few more, so that was nice. I haven't looked at them, yet. _

_Love, _

_Lydia_

_OOOOOO _

_31 August _

_Dear _ _Lydia_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! _

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! _

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR _ _LYDIA_

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! _

_Hope you like the singing, Papa enchanted in for me. He did the colors too, and the glitter and everything; he taught me the charms, too, so that I can do them at school. _

_How did everything go with Harry? I can't wait to hear!!! _

_And – WE GO BACK TOMORROW, AND I'LL SEE YOU ON THE PLATFORM!!!! Want to meet at _ _10:15__ between the two and go through together? See you then! _

_Love, _

_Lyra _

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: As always, I own nothing…many thanks to Ambika-san and VercisIsolde, who edited this for me.

This chapter was loads of fun; I adored writing it. Next chapter's been written and is in the hands of my betas, so you'll get it whenever they send it back…


	19. Death Eater's Kids

Chapter Nineteen: Death Eaters' Kids 

I met Lyra at quarter after ten in front of the Platform, as promised. Sonia Armstrong had taken the morning off to walk with me to the station, and I nervously introduced her to Lyra and her parents – Mr. Weasley was tall and thin, with red hair and glasses, and Mr. Wood was shorter and stockier, with light brown hair and a slight Scottish accent. As the adults stood talking ("Oh, I'm just a family friend," Mrs. Armstrong was saying), Lyra tugged me in the direction of a nearby washroom.

"Well?" she demanded once we were inside. "What _happened_?"

"What?"

"With _Harry_! What did he say when you told him?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Well…I didn't. Tell him, I mean."

Lyra stared at me in disbelief. "Why not?"

"I don't know," I said, "I didn't. I couldn't."

"_Why_ couldn't you?" she demanded, not understanding at all.

"I just couldn't! Lyra, don't you understand? I can't do this without him, I can't lose him too!"

"Woah, calm down," she told me anxiously. "Why would he disown you? He's your godfather, he loves you."

"My parents loved me!" I retorted, and bit back a sob. Lyra immediately pulled me into a hug, apologizing profusely. I cried onto her shoulder for a few minutes and then, embarrassed, pulled away and wiped off my face.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I just—lost it, I guess. I feel so stupid—"

"No, it's fine," Lyra reassured me. "I just think…I think you ought to talk to him, that's all. I mean, maybe he already knows. Doesn't he write to your parents? Maybe they've already told him—"

"Don't be daft, Lyra. If they'd told him he would've said something. And anyway, they wouldn't. I bet they're telling everyone everything's okay. Why would they let people know they'd disowned their daughter?"

Lyra sighed. "Yeah, I reckon you're right, but still. You could tell him. He's the _Boy Who Lived_, he's the one who saved—"

I rolled my eyes. "That doesn't mean anything, Lyra. He loves my dad. I don't want to make him choose."

"Just because he loves your dad doesn't mean he'll hate you! You've got to tell him!"

"We're going to be late," I interrupted. "So let's go."

Lyra followed me, still protesting, onto the train and into the nearest compartment, where Cameron and Aaron Trimble were sitting. Cameron looked up when we entered and visibly relaxed. "Oh. Good. It's you two."

I looked around nervously. "Who else would it be?"

"He's afraid Marissa will come hex him," Evan explained from behind me.

Lyra grinned. "Why would she hex you? What'd you do?"

Cameron glared at her. "Why does everyone always think it's my fault?" he demanded. "Everyone! Always!"

Aaron pretended to look thoughtful. "Maybe," he suggested, "it's because it always is your fault."

"That's not true."

Aaron smirked. "Think about it. Who put frogs in the bed of the headmistress at your orphanage?"

"That might have been me," Cameron admitted.

"And the bottomless glasses? The Headless Hats? The Hiccouph Sweets? Who put those out where small children might get at them?"

Cameron grinned. "Me!"

"And who," Evan asked, as he moved to sit next to me, "sent Marissa chocolates that turned her skin purple?"

"Well," Cameron said slowly, "although I suppose that was probably me, I would like to point out that I had no way of knowing that she would take it so seriously—"

"Don't panic," Aaron Trimble said softly, "but she's headed this way."

Cameron whimpered slightly. "Hide me. Please, someone hide me. Distract her. Tell her I've transferred, I've gone to live with my cousin Mary in America—"

"Cameron Viridian, you are so dead!" Marissa screeched as she strode into our compartment. "If you ever even _think _about sending me _anything _that does _anything_ to my skin or my hair or _anything else_, I will hunt you down and then I will cause you lots and lots of _pain_. And it will _hurt_. Got it?"

Cameron nodded slowly, carefully moving his hands away from his face. "Got it," he whispered.

"Good," she snapped, and turned to face the rest of us with a broad, satisfied grin. "How was everyone's summer? Anyone do anything interesting?"

"I went to a Quidditch game!" Lyra burst out. "The semi-final for the cup, Peru and Russia, it was _amazing._"

Aaron looked at her with newfound respect. "You mean the one that lasted twelve hours, where the Russian beaters kept getting fouled for actually beating people instead of hitting bludgers at them? You were _there_?"

Lyra nodded. "It was the most incredible thing in the world. I almost _died_, it was so good. And we were way up top, too, we had the best seats in the world…"

Marissa caught my gaze and rolled her eyes. It was going to be a very, very long ride.

OOOOOO

"Oh, look," Alicia whispered in my ear, "the firsties look all scared."

"You think we were that small?" I whispered back, my gaze following the forty-odd children slowly filing into the Great Hall.

"You're _still _that small," Maddison hissed, "so shut up and watch the Sorting."

Alicia and I rolled our eyes, and Alicia stuck out her tongue behind Maddison's back. "She's such a snob," I muttered.

"Ackerley, Brendan!" Professor Rufford called, and a small boy with orange hair stepped up to place the hat on his head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Knew it," Cameron whispered next to me as Berkley, Rebecca took his place. "And her…she'll be a Ravenclaw."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Would you please shut up?" Maddison hissed at him. "I'm trying to listen!"

"'Would you please shut up?'" he mimicked. "'I'm trying to listen!'" The rest of us silently cheered him on in the scuffle that followed, and by the time Cameron had declared victory, Snape was glaring at us, and Odgen, Morgana was sitting on the stool, hat low over her eyes.

"She'll be a Slytherin," Cameron whispered confidently. "See the sinister smirk?"

"Cameron, the hat completely covers her face."

"You can _sense _the smirk—"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"See? Told you."

Cameron's uncanny ability to foretell the sorting continued through Alexandra Rockwell (Gryffindor), Solomon Scarpin (Slytherin), and Valerie Tobin (Ravenclaw). "This is creepy," I whispered to Alicia, "he's got to mess up sometime."

"But there are only two left," she replied quietly. "That doesn't look very promising."

"Seriously….how do you think he does it?"

"No idea," Alicia muttered.

"Williamson, Loretta!" Snape called, and I turned to ask Evan whether he thought Cameron would be able to guess this one correctly.

That was when I noticed his face had gone completely white, and his eyes were wide. Tentatively, I poked him in the arm. "Evan? You all right?"

After a moment, he shook himself and glanced up at me. "It's fine."

Cameron muttered, "You looked freaked. Did you see something? Did something happen?"

"No," Evan insisted, "it's _fine_." But as soon as the headmistress finished her announcements, he left the Great Hall at a very brisk walk.

"What the hell was that all about?" Aaron asked, watching Evan leave.

"I have no idea," I replied, taking a bite of potato, "but it's _weird_."

"Yeah," Alicia said, "and we missed the end of the Sorting!"

Cameron grinned. "That Williams kid? Hufflepuff. And the other one, the last one? Gryffindor."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you _do _that?"

"Simple, Alicia, simple. All one has to do is to carefully examine the souls of—"

"That's such crap, Viridian," Maddison cut across. "Everyone knows only an extremely powerful Legilimens could even begin—"

"Any idea what she's talking about, Lydia?" Cameron interrupted. "'Cause I've got no clue."

"Maybe you're a Seer, Cam," Aaron suggested.

"As if!" Cameron retorted, offended. "Everyone knows Divination isn't real magic; it's just full of frauds."

"It's an easy class," John pointed out. "You ought to take it, Cameron, maybe your talent for Sorting kids'll turn into something else."

"Like what?" Cameron asked, interested despite his obvious contempt for the subject.

"Well," John said slowly, "you might find out you were an actual Seer…."

"_Or_," Alicia said excitedly, "you could start a business! You know, seeing the future for a price!"

"Plenty of people would pay loads to hear you tell them how successful they're going to be," I agreed. "You could be famous!"

"And rich," Aaron added. "Don't forget rich."

"I could do rich," Cameron said thoughtfully. "Rich and famous. I like that."

"Okay," Alicia said, "everyone wants rich _and _famous. But what if you could only have one? You could be tremendously, fabulously wealthy _or _everyone could know your name. Which do you pick?"

"Money," John said immediately. "Who cares if everyone knows me? I can buy happiness, I can buy love."

"It's gotta be fame," Aaron countered. "Eternal glory! It'd be like being immortal."

"Only _not_," Maddison snapped, "because you'd still wind up _dead_."

"Sheesh," Cameron muttered. "What's eating her?"

I shrugged. "I'm with John. Wealth is better. You can buy influence even if no one knows who you are."

"What about love?" Aaron asked. "You can't buy love!"

"…How many Galleons are we talking about?" Alicia responded slowly. "I mean, for the right amount of money…"

"Thousands?" Cameron asked her. "Millions?"

"Millions. Billions. It would have to be, say, the Malfoy or the Azwal fortune."

"Or both!"

There was a general nod of agreement. Cameron's speculation on the exact value of those fortunes was interrupted by Henry McHugh, a seventh-year prefect, who leaned over to whisper, "Password's 'sugarplum fairy'. Come up whenever you're ready."

OOOOOO

"Where's Maddison?" Alicia asked me a few weeks later. I was curled up with a Potions essay in a large, squishy armchair Alicia had smuggled in, and she was finishing the reading for Charms.

"No idea. Library, maybe? You know she doesn't like to hang out with us."

"Yeah, because she's a mudblood snob."

"She's half and half," I corrected. "And it's not like it matters anyway."

Alicia crossed her arms. "I just don't think people like that should be at Hogwarts, let alone in Slytherin. Do you know that some experts think they should really be classified as beasts, not beings?"

"Alicia, that's such crap. Look at Maddison – I mean, sure she's a jerk and stuff, but she's still smarter than we are."

"Whatever," Alicia muttered. "Anyway, let's not talk about her. I wanted to tell you, I saw my dad over break."

"You what? Your dad's on the run, right?"

She nodded. "So you can't tell _anyone_, or they might put my mum in Azkaban for not turning him in. Which is stupid, because who would turn their husband in? Especially because he's innocent."

I nodded slowly. I didn't really believe he hadn't at least been one of Voldemort's supporters; Alicia had to get her anti-Muggle dogma from somewhere. "Right…what's he like? I mean, is this the first time you've seen him?"

"No, he comes sometimes. It's the first time Bethy – that's my little sister, Elizabeth – really saw him, though, because Mum was afraid she was too young to keep it a secret before. But he came on Christmas Eve, and we opened presents and everything. He brought me this really pretty locket, see?" I leaned forward to peer at a small gold locket on a thin chain. "He's been living in Brazil for the last year or so. He says he moves around a lot. He's really, really amazing though, and he and Mum are still completely in love, even after everything."

"Why don't you all go live with him?"

Alicia looked down. "Mum says the Ministry won't let us leave until they find him, because they're all Muggle-lovers, and don't really care about wizards."

I sighed. "Muggles are people too."

"People think they're really beasts, remember? Because they're not capable."

"Look, Alicia, can we not—"

At that point, Maddison opened the door, a piece of parchment in one hand. "I've figured it out," she proclaimed.

"Figured _what _out?" Alicia asked, rolling her eyes.

"Why Evan flipped out at the Sorting," she explained coolly. "And if you two had thought a little, you would have figured it out too."

"Oh," Alicia retorted, "you think you're so special, don't you?"

"Stop!" I yelled. "Maddison, just tell us and stop being so high and mighty."

She rolled her eyes, muttering, "I am surrounded by morons."

"Maddison!"

I was half afraid she wouldn't say anything; but she was apparently too proud of herself to keep it quiet. "I went to the library – it's this big collection of books, you wouldn't know it, Alicia – and looked through old _Daily Prophet_ articles. There's a death notice – Annabel and Peter Williamson, killed by Death Eaters on 26 May, 2003. And then three days later: Julian and Rachel Rookwood arrested for the murders of Annabel and Peter Williamson."

I'm sure my face was as blank as Alicia's.

Maddison let out an audible sigh. "Are you two both complete imbeciles? I'll explain in small words: His parents. Death Eaters. Her parents. Killed by them."

"So…Evan's got a guilty conscious because his parents offed some little Puff's parents," Alicia summarized.

"It's conscience, you idiot," Maddison snapped, and Alicia threw a pillow at her.

"Damn," I said quietly, in an attempt to stop their fight, "that's going to be really awkward."

"Awkward?" Maddison repeated. "His parents made her an _orphan._ And the only reason they even got _caught _is because they didn't kill the baby, and so the neighbors heard her crying. So _she's _the reason he's basically parentless. This isn't going to be awkward, it's going to be torture."

"…Do we tell him we know?" Alicia asked me slowly.

"No," I said over Maddison's affirmative response. "If he wants us to know, he'll tell us."

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Sarah Portsmouth poked her head inside. " Oi, Lydia, Zach wants to see you in the common room, pronto. He says to bring your Defense books." She winked at me, and I grinned in response – although I hadn't done any actual magic over the summer, I was fairly confident in my abilities.

"Tell him I'll be there in five," I replied, and stood to find my books.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: As always, don't own, don't steal.


	20. Study Group

Chapter Twenty: Study Group 

"Hello, Lydia," Zach Wenlock greeted me as I approached; although I couldn't see his face, I could hear his grin.

"Hi, Zach," I replied, allowing myself a grin of my own. It was very good to see him again. "What did you do this summer?"

"Lots of stuff. Lots of girls. Trying my best to up our stats, you know," he boasted.

"Our what?" I asked, completely confused.

"Our stats. Snogging stats – every House calculates based on percentage of students involved in relationships. Gryffindor's on top now – this is why you should never shag a Gryffindor, Lydia. Anyway, I was doing my part to up our stats."

Sarah Portsmouth snickered from somewhere behind us. "It only counts if you're consistently with someone, Zach, a random fling doesn't give us anything."

"Well, it's the thought that counts," he grumbled, and then brightened. "Hey, Lydia, what about your year? Are you guys ready to help us shoulder the cause? Defend the Slytherin principles? Keep—"

"They're twelve years old," Sarah interrupted, rolling her eyes. "You're sick, Zach. Leave her alone, she's too young for all that."

Zach sighed heavily and shrugged. "All right, fine. See if you can hold your head up, though, when we have fewer couples than _Hufflepuff_. Lydia, have you been practicing?"

I grinned and nodded. "All summer," I told him proudly.

"Excellent. Then we'll begin – hex me."

I was sure Zach was expecting me to hesitate, and I certainly was startled. But all the same, I held my wand at the ready and yelled, "Rictusempra!"

Zach narrowly deflected the curse, and laughed a little as he faced me. "You _have _been practicing."

"Told you. I spent all summer making potions, memorizing hexes, and 'being aware'."

"How many people in this room, then?" he asked, smirking.

"Twenty-two," I replied, matching his smirk with one of my own. "Six on the seventh-year couch, seven around the big chess set, three in the corner near the door, three studying at the big table, and you and I and Sarah."

"Nice," Sarah told me. "You ever hear of this bloke Moody? He was an auror, one of the Ministry's best. I read about him over the summer. He was big into the awareness stuff – 'constant vigilance,' was what he called it."

"Why don't you read about him, Lydia?" Zach suggested. "You're only a second year, how much can you have to do?"

I glared at him. "They're assigning us loads of work, Zach, and I have all your stuff to do, _and_ I have to ace potions!"

"Why," Sarah started slowly, "is potions so important?"

"Because Rosier said last year that if I was good at potions, then Snape might really like me, and I need adults to really like me because of the whole thing with my parents." I paused. "Anyway, I _like _potions!"

Sarah nodded. "He does have crazy connections. That'll help you, long run."

"Enough talking, you two," Zach interrupted. " Lydia, let's try that again."

OOOOOOOOOO

As the weeks went by, I began to realize why most of the older students seemed so stressed out and tired: the work was piling up. My teachers, apparently satisfied that, as second years, we were finally settled into boarding school life, had started adding more and more work. Suddenly, my entire year was sitting up late into the night, studying, practicing, and writing essay after essay (Professor Flitwick especially seemed to enjoy assigning essays). If my summer had taught me anything, it had made it painfully clear to me that I did not want to spend the rest of my life washing dishes in a second-rate hotel. I was going to be somebody, somebody _big_, and that meant I had to excel in _all _of my classes. And of course, my potions grade had to be perfect, which meant I agonized over each essay and each experiment until I was sure nothing was incorrect.

All of this took a ton of time, and it was Lyra who first mentioned it to me: "I never see you," she told me quietly as we sat in a deserted corner of the library, looking over our charms notes before a test. "And you look crazy tired."

"I don't sleep a lot," I confessed. "There's just so much to do. And I feel like I don't see any of my friends, ever."

She looked thoughtfully at the parchment in front of her. "Remember when I said we should have a study group?"

"No…"

"Of course you do. I wrote to you over the summer and said we should get a whole group, and then we can meet every night and do all our work. We've all got the same teachers and the same syllabi, so we can just divide stuff up or do it as a group. It'll be more fun and it'll take way less time." Her face had lit up as it did whenever she had an interesting idea, and her hands were slicing through the air. "Come on, Lydia, it'd be so much fun."

"What, like in the library? Won't we be too loud?"

"We could meet in an empty classroom or something. Come _on_," she urged me eagerly, "it'll be much more fun!"

I nodded, warming to the idea. "Evan's _brilliant _at history…and Cameron could come, and he could bring food, too…"

"See? You think it's a good idea too!" she cried, grinning at me. "Thursday night, at seven? That's after Quidditch practice."

"Where?" I asked her.

"I'll ask Flitwick if we can use his room. And…" she hesitated awkwardly. "Don't take this the wrong way, okay?"

"Okay," I said slowly, looking at her nervously.

"It's just…don't bring too many Slytherins, okay? I mean, Rookwood and Viridian are okay, I guess, but…well, Travers and Avery and McNair aren't very…"

"Very what?" I demanded angrily. "Lyra, just because they're Slytherins or whatever—"

"It's not that," she said quickly. "I mean, their parents were Death Eaters, right? And they're all anti-Muggle, you know that—"

I glared at her.

"Look, I'm not saying they're evil or anything! Just that they can be really mean—"

"Then you can't bring Bagnold either," I snapped, "or Thickey, because they're both jerks."

"Okay," she said calmly, "I won't."

I nodded slowly, breathing deeply. I knew she hadn't meant to sound so awful, really, and she was telling the truth – Adrian and Alicia both considered Muggles to be some kind of highly intelligent animal, and although John would never out and say it, he thought the same thing. "Okay," I replied finally. "I'll see if Evan and Cam want to come, and Marissa too."

"Wait, what about me?" Marissa's voice sounded from behind me, and I turned around to see her regarding us with a quizzical expression.

"Study group," I explained. "Like a party, only with homework."

"A study party?" Marissa asked with interest. "That sounds like it might be fun. Are we having food?"

"I thought Cameron might bring some from the kitchens," I told her. "He's there all the time anyway."

"No way," she retorted. "You can't let him give innocent people food. He'll hex it and turn them purple. _I'll _bring the food. You just think about restraining him. Petrifying him might be a good way to do it…"

"Marissa!"

"What? It _would_. People who turn other people _purple_ don't deserve a normal life!"

"Not this again…." I sighed, exchanging a grin with Lyra. Marissa had still not forgiven Cameron for the trick chocolates, and she was prone to threatening vengeance; it looked like a prank war might be somewhere on the horizon.

OOOOOOOOOO

I was excited – and nervous – enough about the study group to wake up early on Thursday morning. Next to me, Alicia was still sleeping, curled deep under her blankets. Alicia slept later than anyone in our year. She never went to breakfast, preferring the extra thirty minutes of sleep to the energy food would give her. Maddison, of course, never missed breakfast; usually she was in the bath when I woke up. Today, though, she was still asleep. I checked the clock – _5:15__, sun's rising!_ – and stretched. There was something peaceful about the early-morning peace that made me feel quiet, even contemplative; I was entirely content, and that was a feeling that happened rarely enough for me to want it to last as long as possible. "I'm happy," I said to the still air. "Perfectly happy."

In fact, the year so far had been much better than the beginning of my first year; I was no longer a scared firstie, and my parents – or more accurately, lack thereof – no longer kept me up at night. I thought it had helped that I wasn't the only one without parents. Out of the eight of us, only Maddison, Adrian, and Aaron actually lived with both parents: Alicia's father was on the run; Cameron's parents were dead; Evan's were serving life sentences in Azkaban. No one actually knew whether John's parents were alive or not; he lived with his grandparents. Maybe we were all a little screwed up – "abandonment issues," Maddison said – but at least we were all _equally_ screwed up, and that made a lot of difference, somehow.

"Perfectly happy," I repeated into the chilly air, curling into a ball. "And I'm _warm _and under the covers and cozy and _happy_." With that thought, I snuggled deeper into my covers and closed my eyes, dozing off for a few more hours.

OOOOOOOOOO

The rest of the day continued in the same vein as my morning; nothing seemed capable of dampening my mood. By the time seven o'clock rolled around, I was so cheerful I was almost bouncing. Lyra looked at me with a slightly panicked expression as people started to pull chairs into a rough circle. "Um," she started, glancing at me for support, "we thought we'd just…start the assignments, and that we could kind of…do them together. We've got someone who knows what they're doing in every class, so…"

"So does everyone know everyone else?" I broke in, looking around the circle. Evan and Cameron sat together, then Marissa and Pernella, then Lyra and Jill Holmes and Matthew Hornby. I didn't know Matthew much at all, and had only spoken to Jill once or twice. I saw Evan looking uncomfortable, and Cameron squirmed in his seat, but everyone nodded.

"I brought food," Marissa offered. "Pumpkin juice and sugar cookies. And I can't get my astro maps accurate enough for Crowley."

We passed the cookies and juice around, and Matthew started to draw lines on the blackboard. "Basically, it's all about just making sure you're really accurate when you plot the positions initially…."

We were there until almost ten that night, practicing different spells and going over theory until everyone understood the assignments due the next day. It was a little awkward at first; as a group, we had never actually hung out together, and Matthew and Cameron had been caught in a group of fighting Slytherins and Gryffindors the week before. But Pernella was totally oblivious to the tension in the room, and Marissa was completely comfortable throwing questions out at people, so we managed all right. If no one chose to comment on the obvious segregation by house…well, that was all right. "We did it," Lyra remarked with some surprise as everyone left. "We did it, and no one get hexed."

I grinned at her. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Definitely," she replied. "In fact, I think this ought to be a nightly thing."

"With you on that one," I said emphatically, gathering my books and yawning. I followed Lyra out of the classroom, where we parted – she to the Gryffindor common room, and I to the Slytherin dungeons.

OOOOOOOOOO

A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse, just Lydia and co. Ambika-san and Haleth Aldea beta-ed this for me; they are wonderful people and you should send happy thoughts to them.

I apologize for the mega-long delay for this chapter; NaNoWriMo took over my life for 30 days and 50,144 words, which was awesome, but I didn't have any time for anything else…

Reviews? Please? Amabo te?


	21. InterHouse Friendships

Chapter Twenty-One: Inter-House Friendships 

Our study group met every school night after that for the next few months, working out essay outlines and study guides for each class. After the first few weeks I started bringing my cauldron with me so we could redo the potions from class. Between the eight of us, we could master any assignment, and our grades were steadily improving. Although I wasn't sure Snape either noticed or cared – he was pleasant to the Slytherins and hostile to the Gryffindors as always – I caught Vector giving us piercing looks, and more than once I met Fawcett's eyes only to see her grin. "Think she wanted this or something?" I asked Lyra as we left her classroom one November morning.

"Wanted what?"

"You know, the study parties. The House unity or something."

Lyra snuck a look back over her shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe. How would she know, though? I mean, it's not like we all hang out outside of studying. It's just by Houses and us."

"Marissa and Cameron and Evan and I are together a lot," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but you were before that. Maybe she's just happy that you're well-adjusted and normal or something. Or maybe she's watching out for you for your parents."

"Right. Because my parents would totally tell someone about me _now_, and Fawcett would totally just pretend it's not happening but watch me sneakily." My voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Well, why not?" Lyra asked.

"I don't even think she _knows_ my parents," I protested.

"Isn't she legally obligated to tell the headmistress if your parents are mistreating you?" Cameron interrupted, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Otherwise she could be sacked."

"They're not mistreating me," I protested. "They never see me."

"Exactly," Lyra said. "They're ignoring you and not supporting you. You had to work and buy all your stuff for this year and get yourself a place to stay and everything. That's…" she trailed off.

"Neglect," Cameron filled in. "The government would have to step in."

I frowned. "But I wouldn't need them. I've got it worked out. And Snape almost likes me now. I can see it in his eyes."

"All you can see in Snape's eyes is intense dislike," Lyra countered. "Thinly masked dislike."

"That's only 'cause you're a Gryffindork," Cameron told her. "He likes us."

"I am _not_ a dork!"

"Sure you are," he said, grinning. "Look it up, your picture's right there next to the definition."

"And yours is right next to annoying!"

"…Was that your idea of a comeback, Wood? 'Cause that just sucks."

Lyra shot him a death glare, and Cameron grinned and sauntered off.

"Ooh," Lyra muttered, "I'm going to hex him…"

"You and Marissa should start a club," I suggested. "Girls Against Cameron."

"At least we'd get a ton of members. I bet we'd even have more than the Gobstones club" – the Gobstones club was the biggest club at school – "there've got to be more girls who hate him than who like Gobstones."

"I doubt it," I replied. "I mean, most people outside of Slytherin or older than us or whatever, they wouldn't know who he is. Maybe when we're seventh years or something, but then probably all the girls will be in love with him."

Lyra's face contorted into a grimace. "That's disgusting."

"Why?"

"There are so many guys who'd be better to fall for!" she cried. "I mean, just look around. _So _many prettier people."

I looked around. "The guys all seem the same, actually."

"Really?" she asked. "You don't see, like, one you would want to go out with or anything?"

I shook my head. "They all look the same," I repeated.

"Huh," Lyra replied. As we walked toward the Great Hall, I kept my gaze moving critically over the crowds of boys; none stood out, at least not in a snoggable kind of way.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Just before Christmas break, Alicia and I were walking out of the Slytherin dungeons when she grabbed my arm. "Do you hear that?" she hissed.

I listened hard; I could hear a loud, shrill voice ahead of us. As we got closer I started to distinguish the words: "What do you think you're doing down here? This is Slytherin territory. We don't want other people down here spying on us, trying to figure out—"

Then another voice, quieter, younger: "I'm not spying." Alicia and I exchanged a glance and peeked around a corner; facing us was Alyssa Jennings, a fourth-year Slytherin, with one hand on her hip, pointing her wand at a smaller girl whose back was toward us.

"What's going on?" Alicia mouthed at me. "Should we do something?"

I shrugged, craning my neck to see more clearly. It was an unwritten rule that one simply did not meddle in the affairs of other Slytherins unless one was directly involved. "Then why are you in our dudgeons?" Alyssa demanded, pointing her wand at the younger girl's throat. "I can't think of any decent reasons for you to be here."

"I'm not doing anything," the girl repeated, and this time, her voice quivered as she spoke.

"Oh, no?" Alyssa replied, stepping forward. "Then what are you doing here?"

"Nothing!" she insisted, stumbling backwards. "I'm not doing anything!"

I could hear footsteps behind me; whirling around, I saw Evan approaching. Seeing the two of us against the wall, he moved to the side of the corridor and walked more quietly. "What's going on?" he muttered in my ear when he'd finally reached us.

"I don't know," I whispered back. I was about to elaborate when he stepped forward, pulling the younger girl behind him and turning to face Alyssa.

"What's going on?" he asked her. His voice was pleasant, but I could tell that he was worried; he was gripping his wand tightly in his hand, and his other hand was clenched into a fist.

"This Hufflepuff's been spying on us," Alyssa explained.

"I am not spying!" the girl in question cried. Her voice was strong again; I thought that Evan's obvious protection was giving her confidence.

"There's no other good reason for her to be here," Alyssa said to Evan. "Why else would a Hufflepuff come down into our territory?"

Evan shrugged. "She's just a first year. Leave her alone, Jennings, I'll walk her upstairs." He offered an arm to the girl, who took it gingerly. When they turned, walking past us down the corridor, I recognized her: Loretta Williamson, the kid whose parents had been killed by Evan's mother and father.

"Is that…?" Alicia whispered, staring after them.

I nodded. "Yeah, that's her."

"What do you think he's trying to do?" she asked, watching their retreating backs curiously.

"I don't know," I told her, "but I'm going to ask him about it."

But Evan was almost never in the common room for the next few weeks. In fact, it was almost impossible to catch him alone: he came to our study groups just after the first wave of people, and then left before I could talk to him; he only passed through the common room at night instead of staying and chatting or arguing. Even at meals and in classes, where it was normally easy to yank him aside, he was evasive. I finally cornered him the night before Christmas break, as he dashed through the common room on his way to his room. I got between him and the doorway to the boys' dorms, and held up a hand. "Halt!" I commanded.

"Hi, Lydia," he replied. "Help you with something?"

"Let's take a walk," I said cheerfully.

"You're aware it's past curfew, right?" he asked, looking at me like I was crazy. "Snape actually does take off points for wandering around at night, you know."

"Only if he has to," I said with a shrug, "and he likes me now, 'cause my potions rock. We're walking." He shrugged and followed me as I grabbed his arm and pulled him out the door and down the cold stone hallway of the dungeon. "Evan," I finally started, "are you… this Loretta person… you two…" I trailed off.

"I've just been helping her out with her work," he replied quietly. "That's all."

"Doesn't she…" I hesitated, trying to find the right words – the last thing I wanted to do was to offend him – "isn't it awkward, with, you know, all the… history?"

"You mean how my parents killed her parents?" he asked wryly, looking sideways at me.

"Yeah," I replied. "That part. Doesn't it make things… you know, hard?"

Evan shrugged. "It's weird, I guess, but I kind of feel like… Lydia, it's our parents who fucked up the world, right? Our parents and their parents. So it's like it's up to me to make sure she's okay, you know? Because it's my parents who made her not okay, who screwed everything up for her."

I looked over at him. "You know it's not your fault, right? You were just a baby when it happened. You're not at fault for what your parents did."

"But it's not her fault, either," he replied softly. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is, because we've got to deal with it either way. I mean, it's not your fault your parents won't talk to you, is it? But you've still got to deal with it; _they _don't have to deal with it, really. It's your life they've fucked up, so you've got to fix it."

I nodded. "Is she okay with it?"

"I think so. She was happy that I got her away from Alyssa, at least. And we've been meeting in the library, nights. I've been helping her with her work."

I looked over at him. "Bring her to study group, Evan. We can all help her. And that way she'll have, you know, more older friends."

"You don't think people will mind?" he asked.

"Why would they?" I asked. "It's first-year work, we can totally help her with that. And we're not just Slytherins, so she shouldn't be scared or anything."

"I'll bring her over," he said. "After break, anyway." He checked his wristwatch, and groaned. "Which reminds me, I'm not done packing. We should get back to the dorms, anyway, before Filch comes and puts us in detention."

"Right," I replied, following him back to the common room, where traditional the end-of-term party was in full swing. Music was playing loudly – the Raging Goblins were singing at top volume over the Wizard Wireless – and a large group of older boys had gathered around the punch bowl, which I knew had probably been spiked. I grinned at Evan and made my way through the thronging, dancing crowd of students to the table with the crystal punch bowl. I grabbed a goblet and filled it, grinning at Sarah Portsmouth, who had appeared by my elbow.

"Aren't you too young to be drinking?" she yelled over the din.

"Nope!" I yelled back, gulping the burning liquid down.

She laughed, raising her own goblet in a toast. "Ready for your break?" she asked, as we clinked glasses.

"Yes!" I shouted, grinning. And I _was_ ready for a vacation; it had been a very, very long fall term, and I needed some time to recharge. I felt like I hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a very long time: between staying up late to finish the work that was actually due for classes, staying up to finish my extra potions work or the Defense work for Zach, and staying up just for the late-night conversations in the common room, I never seemed to get a full eight hours of sleep. With that in mind, I poured myself another glass of punch and moved back through the dancing crowd, making sure to wish my friends a happy break – it seemed like everyone else was going home – and headed slowly toward the black marble staircase and my room and bed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: Woot, I am back! And I still don't own the Potterverse (shocking, yes?). Reviews/feedback would be especially appreciated on this chapter, because my betas are sort of overwhelmed, between college and leaving the country and such, and so only Ambika-san was able to edit this for me (and so many, many thanks to her).


	22. Christmas Holidays

Chapter Twenty-Two: Christmas Holidays 

I woke up too late the next morning to see anyone off; it was near noon when I finally rolled out of bed and made my way down to the deserted common room. All traces of the party the night before had been cleaned up; the room was back to its normal, pristine condition. The quiet was strange, almost unreal – the noise in the Slytherin common room was generally kept to dull roar or, very occasionally, whispers, and the total silence was unnatural. There were two other Slytherins staying at school for vacation, but they were both much older than I; all of my friends would be at home for the next two weeks. Although originally I had been excited about spending that much time alone, away from the incessant noise and work, where I could brew potions and practice hexes without feeling self-conscious…now I just felt lonely.

I spent that first day wandering around the castle, feeling restless and cagey. I desperately wanted to do _something, _but I wasn't tired, and I didn't want to work, or read, or write letters, and we weren't allowed into Hogsmeade until the next day. The hours seemed to go by unbearably slowly; the enormous castle seemed totally empty. By the time dinner rolled around, I was bored enough that even the prospect of eating with the faculty seemed interesting. Professors Flitwick and Snape were already sitting down when I got to the table, with Vector between them. Generally all the teachers stayed over breaks, but I supposed that since this was over Christmas, they might switch off for mealtimes – who really wanted to spend their Christmas vacation with a bunch of children?

"Good evening, Miss Carmichael," Professor Snape greeted me. "How has your day been?"

I shrugged. "It was okay. Slow."

"Sit down," the headmistress told me with a smile. "We're still waiting on a few students, so you won't be alone with a bunch of old folks."

"I think I'm the only one here who can really be considered _old_," Flitwick protested as I sat down, spreading my napkin over my lap and twisting it in my hands. For some reason, adults tended to make me nervous; I was never really sure what they were thinking about me, or how to respond to their joking attempts at comradery, and I was immensely relieved to see a small group of students walking into the Great Hall. As they sat down, I could see their badges: two Gryffindors, one Ravenclaw, and two Hufflepuffs. The only one I knew by name was Jeffery Poole, a Gryffindor in my year. He'd started coming to our study group with Matthew Hornby a few weeks ago, but we'd barely spoken to each other about anything other than schoolwork.

"So what's for dinner?" the older Gryffindor asked. "Anyone know?"

"Ham, I think," Professor Flitwick replied. "Are you all looking forward to your weeks free?"

"No," one of the Hufflepuffs responded immediately. "You know I'm only here because you're threatening to flunk me, Professor. I'd be home with my family otherwise."

"Ha," the Ravenclaw said, smirking. "Nice going, Greg. I'm impressed. I'd be even more impressed if this didn't happen to you _every year._"

"It's not my fault I'm no good at charms," Greg protested. "I think they're useless."

"Useless?" the other Hufflepuff, a girl with long red hair in a braid, chimed in. "They're not useless. Charms is, like, _the _most important subject."

"Like the most important?" Snape asked mildly. "Then what _is _the most important subject, Miss Windsor?"

She grinned. I was a little surprised to see a Hufflepuff grin when she'd just been so obviously chastised by Professor Snape; he was generally known to dislike those outside of Slytherin, and everyone knew Hufflepuffs were, well, kind of timid and useless. "You know what I meant, Professor," she protested. "Charms is the most important subject."

"I beg to differ," the older Gryffindor said. "Jenny, everyone knows Defense Against the Dark Arts is far more important—"

"That's such a lie," she shot back. "Defense can't hold a candle to charms." In the lively discussion that ensued, it became apparent that Greg, Jenny, the older Gryffindor, and the Ravenclaw – Bryan – were all in the same year, and good friends besides; when the other two Slytherins showed up, sliding into their places just as the food appeared on the table, it was clear that all five of them were somewhere between acquainted and friendly, and they dominated the discussion all through dinner. Poole and I exchanged glances once or twice over our ham and potatoes as if to say, _Well, at least we don't have to try and make conversation, right? _

Over dessert, the Gryffindor boy appeared to notice that Poole and I existed. "Oh!" he said suddenly. "Jeff, we've been ignoring you all evening. And…" he paused, looking at me. "I'm sorry, you're—"

"That's Lydia Carmichael," Grant Graves replied before I could speak. He was a tall, lanky seventh year, the best Slytherin chaser we had. I jerked my head up, looking at him with surprise.

"Way to not let her actually answer," the Gryffindor snapped, and turned to me. " Carmichael…why does that name sound familiar?"

"Um," I said, "I don't know?"

"Were your parents part of that attack at St. Mungo's—"

"I think that's enough," Professor Vector said quickly. "Is anyone planning on going into Hogsmeade this week?" There were nods all around; what else would we do?

"I think we ought to be able to go into Hogsmeade whenever we want," Jenny suggested, twisting her red hair around her hand. "Not just on vacations and special weekends."

"A few years ago, you wouldn't have been able to go in on breaks either," Vector told her. "Students were expected to stay at the castle."

"How boring!" Greg protested.

She smiled. "Generations of Hogwarts students managed, Mr. Morris. They did their work – something you should be doing."

"On that note," he said, "I'll be off to go practice whatever it is I'm supposed to know—"

"Silent summoning charms!" Flitwick squeaked, sounding horrified.

"Right," Greg said, "those." And with that, the students stood up, one by one, and left the Great Hall.

OOOOOO

Three days later, I headed out to Hogsmeade for Christmas shopping. The year before, I'd gone in with Evan and Cameron, but this year I was on my own. It was a lot less fun without friends.

I decided to start shopping at Honeydukes. Even though I was – as always – worried about spending too much gold, I didn't really have a choice. I knew my friends would be getting me Christmas presents, and I hated to be the only one _not _buying anything. Besides, Honeydukes was easily the coolest store in all Hogsmeade: they had mounds of fresh fudge and shelves full of the best kinds of candy, and at Christmastime they gave out free samples, especially to Hogwarts students (I think the owners felt bad that some students weren't at home for the holidays). When I walked in, the smell of warm chocolate and sharp peppermint washed over me in an intense wave. A woman at the door smiled at me and offered me a sample of fresh peanut butter fudge. "Happy holidays," she greeted me. "Shopping for presents?" At my nod, she pointed to one corner: "We've got a special on chocolate frogs and cockroach clusters."

I thanked her with a grin and started toward the table she'd pointed out. A large pyramid of chocolate frogs sat in the middle, surrounded by cockroach clusters, Peppermint Toads, and ice mice. I grabbed some of each, trying to determine just how much candy each person needed for a decent present, and on my way over to the counter I saw a wooden Chocolate Frog Card holder, perfect for Lyra. As I dumped everything in my hands out onto the counter, I caught a whiff of a very chocolatey, slightly peppermint-like something; the woman at the counter, noticing my expression, laughed. "That's our newest hot chocolate. Want some?" I grinned and nodded, and she handed me a small hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, as she wrapped up the rest of my purchases.

I sipped my drink as I walked out into the cold air and down the road. It wasn't snowing yet, but the sky was heavily overcast. The streets were mostly deserted, and I pulled my cloak more tightly around my body as I walked on, stopping at the stationary store for joke quills (for Aaron); invisible, edible, and blood-red inks (for Cameron); and a very nice discounted black inkwell (for Evan). I lingered there for a while, looking at the regal-looking eagle quills which I couldn't afford and running my fingers over the smooth, blank sheets of parchment and journals. I loved the look and feel of blank parchment; there was something about it that was fresh and inviting, kind of like a clean start.

Someone coughed at my elbow, and I jumped, turning to see the clerk. "Help you?" he asked, a little coolly.

"Oh…yeah," I replied. "I'm just buying these," I told him, bringing the inks and quills over to the counter where he could ring them up; I got the feeling he didn't like having children in the store. He thrust the bag and my change into my hands. "Happy holidays!" I chirped as I left the store, just to hear him mutter, "Happy holidays," in return.

From there, I went into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which _overflowed _with loud, brightly colored pranks, things that exploded, candies that turned your hair or skin different colors, and even a _portable swamp_, which the owners promised was easily assembled and deep enough to need an actual boat to cross (of course, it also cost fifty galleons, which was a lot more than I was able to spend). Instead of a bell dinging softly when I crossed the threshold, a loud siren rang out. A stocky man with red hair and a large whole where his ear should be came over to me immediately, grinning. "Hogwarts student? Looking for something to amuse and dazzle your friends? Involved in a roommate feud? Here for something to annoy your parents?"

"Um," I replied, hesitating, "I'm Christmas shopping, actually."

"Excellent! Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has something for everyone on your list," he told me, placing a firm hand on my back and steering me into the store. He had a cheerful, booming voice, the kind that would be easily recognizable and was always ready to burst into laughter. "I'm George," he added as an afterthought. "Whom are you shopping for? Who's first on your list?"

"I have this friend," I told him slowly, thinking of Marissa. "She's sort of a target of all these pranks – they're funny, like sending her chocolates that turn her purple – but she's getting really peeved with him."

"Ah," George said, nodding his head wisely, "young love at its most vexing. Clearly, she needs to fight pranks with pranks – now, we've just come out with these quills, enchanted to write only the first sentence you write with them. Or these," he suggested, spinning me around, "they're a little older, hats that come down over your head and refuse to come off, or these" – he steered me a little further into the store – "prank books. Read them for two pages, and this one, you'll speak in rhyme – this one, in quotes – here, limericks – dactylic hexameter – haiku – sonnets – riddles – bad puns – sexual innuendo – pickup lines—"

I stopped him. "Thanks," I replied, flushing a little, "but I don't have a lot of money to spend." I paused, adding quietly, "The books are really cool, though…."

George nodded. "Well, maybe we can work something out. Hogwarts student, so you've got a discount, so that brings you down to five galleons apiece already, and…" he paused, thinking to himself. He still had that easy, winning smile, and I could see how he'd built up this business; his smile practically said _I'm here, I'm looking out for you._ "How about we do three for two? Ten galleons, and your pick of three of them." I hesitated, looking at the books. Ten galleons was a _lot_, but the look on Marissa's face….

"They're easily charmed to look like textbooks," he added. "This is an incredible bargain."

"Okay," I told him finally. "I'll get them. The pickup lines, and the haiku, and the quotes."

"Excellent choices!" he replied cheerfully, his hand reaching to pull three books off the shelves. "Remember not to read them yourself," he cautioned me, steering me away from the shelf. "Anything else we can help you with?"

"One of the boys at school's been helping me with Defense Against the Dark Arts," I told him, "and I'd like to get him something. Do you have anything that's, like, a malicious person detector?"

"Pocket sneakoscopes," he said immediately, "and miniature Foe Glasses. I'd go with the pocket vibrating sneakoscopes, if I were you," he confided. "They're a lot cheaper."

"Okay," I said. "One of those, then. And that's all I need."

"Excellent!" he replied, steering me to the counter. "Becky here will ring you up."

"Thanks," I told him as he handed Becky the books and sneakoscope.

"Here at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, we never rest until you're fully satisfied!" he told me. "Happy holidays!"

OOOOOO

By four o'clock I was sitting in the Three Broomsticks drinking a butterbeer, having finally finished my shopping (it had taken me two hours to find something for Alicia; I'd finally found a bracelet and matching earrings in a tiny shop at the very edge of the village). I'd splurged a little on myself, buying a pretty pair of dangling green earrings from the same store (they were in the shape of snakes, and they hissed very quietly when people came near) and a book of short stories from a used bookstore, which I was now reading. I was deeply engrossed in a story about a dragon tamer, but not so deeply that I didn't notice when someone walked by my table and stopped; looking up, I saw that it was Poole.

"Hey," he said, a little too loudly. "Mind if I sit down?"

"No," I told him, "go ahead, seat's free."

He paused a moment before asking, nervously, "You started up the study group with Lyra, right?"

"Yeah," I answered. "It was her idea, though."

"Oh," he responded. "I think it's a really good one. Idea, I mean, a really good idea. I'm understanding stuff better."

"Me too," I said finally, looking up at him. I didn't know much about Jeffery Poole: he had reddish hair and a square face, and mostly he was quiet in classes, except for charms. "So," I said, in an attempt to ease the awkward silence, "we're the only second years staying, huh?"

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding a little too forcefully. "You're the one whose parents won't talk to her, right?" I choked on a mouthful of butterbeer, and he immediately flushed red. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I don't have any tact. My friends all say I don't know when to shut up."

"No," I said. "I mean, no, don't worry about it. Does everybody know?" I asked, suddenly feeling embarrassed. It was one thing for my _friends _to know about my parents, but other students? Did _teachers _know?

"Probably," he said frankly. "At least in our year, and maybe the older kids too. They might not know you by name, though," he added, attempting to soften the blow; I didn't reply. After a moment, he cleared his throat. "My mum drinks," he offered. "My dad died in the war, and everyone says she was normal before that, but she drinks a lot now. Christmas at home was always really bad, you know? It's better to stay here."

I looked at him, accepting his confession for what it was – a kind of a peace offering, a tit-for-tat; he was sharing his family to make up for knowing about mine. "They disowned me when they found out about the Sorting," I explained. "They haven't written me since."

"That's tough," he said quietly, taking a sip of his drink. "I used to get really mad at my dad," he admitted after a pause, "for dying and making her drink and leaving me alone with her, but then I'd feel guilty for being mad at him, because he was dead and you can't be mad at people who are dead, you know? Because they're dead."

"Yeah," I replied, pausing a bit before speaking again, my voice sticking in my throat: "I thought they'd come pick me up at the station last June. I waited an hour and a half for them. I kept hoping that, like, they were caught up in traffic or something came up and they just got delayed, and they were really coming to get me."

"I'm always scared she'll say something when she's drunk, really embarrass me or something. Or that she'll pass out and the house will catch on fire or something," he told me, fiddling with his watch. "And that they won't put it out in time and she'll die."

"I'm afraid someone will tell someone, like a parent or a teacher, some adult, and that they'll feel like they have to step in and fix it," I confessed, the words spilling out almost faster than I was thinking them, "and then I'll get put into an orphanage or sent to live with some really distant relatives and _everyone_ will just think of me as this pitiful little girl whose parents hate her, and then my mum and dad'll be even _more _mad at me for bringing people into it."

"And it'll be even worse," he added, nodding, "and it'll be all your fault 'cause you told when you shouldn't have." I nodded, and it struck me suddenly how incredibly surreal it was, to be sitting in the Three Broomsticks with a boy I'd barely ever spoken to, sharing things I could barely tell even my best friends. My mind flashed back to the year before, when Cameron and Evan and I had first talked to Marissa, and I wondered if maybe it was just something about Christmas that erased House lines and let perfect strangers tell each other their deepest secrets.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: As always, I don't own anything JKR does. Everythnig else is mine.

Reviews would make me soooo happy, and extra kudos to anyone who got the Jane Eyre allusions.


	23. Christmas

Chapter Twenty-Three: Christmas

On Christmas Eve morning, a barn owl flew through the dormitory and into my room, landing on my bed and pecking at me until I woke up. Opening one eye, I recognized Harry's elderly owl; sitting up, I untied the parchment from her leg and opened the envelope. A card fell out of it. The front was red, with a large green Christmas tree and falling gold and silver snowflakes, and, inside, a group of carolers sang, "Good tidings we bring, to you and your friends. Good tidings for Christmas and a nice vacation!" Above their heads, Harry had written in his untidy scrawl, _Merry early Christmas, _ _Lydia__! Enjoy your vacation, and get some chocolate at Honeydukes on me_, and as the carolers sang, they tossed silver sickles out of the card and into my lap. Grinning, I gathered up the coins and put them into my moneybag, which had grown considerably lighter during my Hogsmeade visit; the card I stood up on my nightstand, where it still sang softly.

The owl flew off (after eating several of Perseus's owl treats) as I was finished getting dressed, and I followed her out of the dungeon. Poole and I had planned to meet in the library and spend the day doing homework; it was mostly reading, but Crowley wanted a full foot and a half on Jupiter's moons, and Snape had assigned the Gryffindors two and a half feet on the properties of monkshood.

Poole was already in the library when I got there, seated at one of the tables with a stack of astronomy books spread out in front of him. "Sorry I'm late," I said by way of greeting as I sat down across from him, taking out a fresh roll of parchment and a quill. "How far are you?"

"I've just started," he replied. "I'm just outlining facts now. Does she want us to do all of them?"

"No," I answered, "just the Galilean ones: Io, Ganymede, Europa, and…um…"

"Callisto," he finished. "We can get eighteen inches on them, I guess. You want to do Europa and Io, and I'll outline the other two? We can switch after."

"Sure," I replied, opening one of the books to a chart of the relative sizes of Jupiter's moons. We settled into our work, silently going through the books and taking notes. Crowley was a ridiculously tough grader, and she wanted each and every fact correct; her star charts, which were the equivalent of tests, were notoriously difficult to pass, and she wanted essays complete, with a list of sources attached. Even working together, it took Poole and me the rest of the afternoon to finish the assignment, but by dinner, we'd each managed to write a nineteen and a half inch essay, and could honestly say that we'd consulted six books.

"She better give us the best grades in the class," Poole said darkly. "This has taken bloody forever."

"I know," I replied, running my hands through my hair. "I don't even _like _astro."

"Me neither," he said. "Matt's really good, but I just don't see that there's a point. You can _do _charms, or spells, and that's fun – but all astronomy is is looking up at the sky and thinking 'Oh, that's Jupiter' and hoping that means something."

"Exactly," I said, and shut the last book with a loud thump. "Hey," I said suddenly, looking up at the clock, "it's dinner, and I haven't eaten all day. Can we do your potions stuff later?"

He grinned. "We can do it whenever you want, Carmichael. I've seen you in potions – you could probably write my essay for me in about ten minutes."

"Half an hour at least," I replied, grinning. "There's a lot to say about wolfsbane."

"I'm writing about monkshood!" he cried, looking anxiously at me.

" Poole," I started slowly, "they're the same thing: wolfsbane, monkshood, aconite. Just different names, that's all."

"Oh," he answered, and then grinned. "Guess it's a good thing you're helping me, then, isn't it?"

OOOOOOOO

After dinner, I helped Poole with his essay before returning to the Slytherin dungeons. It was past eight o'clock, and the common room was deserted; I grabbed _Intermediate Potions_ from my room and curled up in a leather chair by the roaring fire. I was almost finished with the book – I'd worked through all but two potions (one dreamless sleep potion required more pixie dust than I could afford, and the other was so illegal that brewing it was enough to send the maker to Azkaban), and was halfway through the final chapter, an overview on creating antidotes. It was funny to think that a year ago, I'd despised potions and been afraid of Snape; now, it was my best subject (although Snape still frightened me; I could never tell what he was thinking). I was so far ahead of my year in _Magical Drafts and Potions _that I'd ceased to even have to worry about brewing in class, and Professor Snape always had something complementary to say.

Just after ten, the door creaked open and Grant Graves burst in. "What time is it?" he demanded. "Did I miss the cookies?"

"Um, like quarter past?" I answered. "What cookies?"

"Snape," Keith Chaloux answered, walking in after him. "He brings cookies and stuff for us on Christmas Eve. Best part of break, other than presents in the morning, of course."

"They're _good _cookies," Grant added, flopping into a chair in front of the fire. "And I'm in desperate need of sustenance."

"But we had dinner a few hours ago," I protested. "How can you be hungry already?"

"We're growing boys, Lydia," Grant explained, grinning. "Besides, Keith and I have been flying for hours. If the whole team were actually _here_, we could have gotten an actual practice in."

"Now there's a thought," Keith declared, stopping in his tracks. "Think I could force everyone to stay over Easter hols, Grant?"

Grant shrugged. "Hey, you're the captain. They'll do what you want or leave, right? And besides, everyone wants to win the Cup this year."

"Very true," Keith murmured. "Very true indeed. And Easter at home – pfft, that's not so important. And I bet Snape will back me up on the mandatory—"

"What, exactly, do you assume I'll enforce for you?" I turned to see Snape coming in through the door, cookies and butterbeer in hand, as the clock struck half past ten.

Keith grinned. "'Evening, sir. Grant and I were talking about compulsory Quidditch practice over Easter break this year," he explained.

"And you think your team wants to spend vacation here, with grueling practices every morning?" Professor Snape asked, raising his eyebrows.

Keith shrugged. "They want to win. I want to win. If that's what it takes…"

"Half of 'em don't even have parents to go back to," Grant cut in smoothly, "and hell, holidays here aren't so bad. Henry might not like it, sure, and Jess might argue—"

"I'll get Sarah to talk her into it, then," Keith snickered. Grant elbowed him, hard, in the ribs, and I looked between them, confused.

"Why is that funny?" I demanded, looking first to Keith and then to Grant for an explanation. When no answer came, I turned finally to Professor Snape. "Professor," I asked, "why is that funny?"

"I don't think Miss Everard would appreciate being talked of behind her back," was all Snape would say as he passed around the cookies and butterbeer. I knew him well enough to know that he wasn't going to say another word, but that didn't quench my curiosity. I turned back to the two boys to ask again, but Grant just shook his head.

"Sorry," Keith muttered around a mouthful of cookies.

"What are you reading, Lydia?" Grant asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject. I held the book up so he could read the cover, feeling somewhat embarrassed; it was an advanced book for someone in my year, and I didn't want them to think that I was reading it to suck up to Snape. "_Intermediate Potions,_ huh?" he asked. "Sounds fascinating."

"It _is_!" I cried, immediately defensive. "It's got all sorts of stuff, general theory and specific recipes and—"

"Chill," Keith told me, holding up a hand. "Everything's all right, Lydia, Professor Snape's already bragged to our class about how he's got a second year better than all of us combined."

"I did nothing of the sort," Snape protested demurely as I blushed furiously. If Keith was telling the truth, then my near-fanatical studying was paying off: Snape was _bragging _about me. He was _proud _of me. "Would that be Tugwood's _Intermediate Potions,_ Miss Carmichael?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, unable to keep a wide grin from spreading across my face.

"And have you brewed all the potions she describes?" he asked, looking at me thoughtfully.

"Er, no, sir. There's an alternate version of the Sleeping Draught which uses too much pixie dust, and the Unctuous Unction is illegal to brew…" I answered, adding quickly, "I've managed everything else, though."

"Unctuous Unction?" Grant repeated. "What's that do?"

"Makes the person who drinks it think whoever gave it to him is his best friend," I explained.

"The effects can be quite dangerous," Snape added.

"Why?" Keith asked. "Because you'll trust them implicitly, or are there other effects?"

I expected Professor Snape to answer, but he didn't say anything. "Both," I answered Keith. "I mean, thinking someone's your best friend can be really bad, because they can make you do things. But it can also cause, like, brain rupturing or something. The book wasn't very specific, but it said that you could die if you drank it."

"Sounds creepy," Grant put in. "I'm glad you're not brewing it."

"Yes," Professor Snape added dryly, "avoiding a life sentence in Azkaban is always commendable."

"Oh, come off it, Professor," Grant replied. "You know you're happy to have a student running circles around the Gryffs."

I grinned proudly. I knew I was the best in our year; even Maddison couldn't best me at potions-brewing, and she was regarded by everyone in our year as the smartest (and most condescending, and snobbish) of all of us.

Professor Snape shook his head slowly. "Mr. Graves, if you're implying that I would take some sort of perverse pleasure in watching the students of other houses fail—"

"You mean you don't?" Keith snorted, as Grant protested that he hadn't been implying that at all. Professor Snape waved both comments off with a laugh and refilled our mugs, and the subject changed to other things: Slytherin's chances in the Quidditch Cup, Grant's sister's engagement to a Ministry official he deemed "completely wrong for her", and career plans for both the boys.

We stayed until early in the morning, when Professor Snape told us he was going to bed and that we should do the same. On his way out, he turned back to address me: "Miss Carmichael, stop by my office Monday night. I'll brew Ryder's Sleeping Draught with you; I've got plenty of pixie dust, and I'd like to see you try something a little more challenging." With that, and a sweep of his robes, he was gone, and the door swung heavily shut behind him.

"Woah," Keith said with a low whistle. "He must think you've got potential, for a prepubescent second year." Grant, halfway to the boys' staircase, laughed, and Keith ruffled my hair before following his friend. I stayed in my chair for a moment before I headed to my room, trying to figure out whether Keith had just given me a compliment or an insult.

OOOOOOOO

Christmas morning I woke up to a tremendous tropical storm brewing outside the window. "Oh, stop it," I said irritably. "It's Christmas, can't you find a _snowy _part of the Atlantic Ocean to show me?" Nothing changed on the other side of the glass, so I shrugged and rolled out of bed. A small pile of presents sat at the foot of my four-poster, and I sat down to open them with an excited cheer, tearing the paper off the first package I saw, which turned out to be from Alicia. She'd gotten me (of all things) an enormous stuffed bear; the attached card said his name was Bilbo and he would hug back if you hugged him first.

I set Bilbo up across from me where he could see the rest of the packages, and chatted to him as I opened them. He was a good listener, and so I told him all about my holidays, and my roommates, and Cameron and Marissa and Evan, and Lyra, and finally about my parents. "See," I told him as I was opening the final package (a new Gobstones set, from Harry), "after I got Sorted into Slytherin – that's one of the Houses at Hogwarts – my parents kind of went ballistic, and they haven't talked to me since. Which I don't think is very fair, do you, Bilbo? And anyway everyone's so obsessed with the Houses. The Gryffindors can't stand us because we're evil, and we don't like them right back, and no one really likes the Hufflepuffs, and it just seems kind of…silly." I frowned at the bear – he was quite an imposing teddy bear, with brown fur and short claws – and absently began to pick up the scattered paper. "I get disowned for being a Slytherin, and I have to learn extra spell work in case the Gryffindors attack me, and it just all seems so stupid. The four founders were friends, weren't they? Otherwise they'd've never founded it to begin with."

Bilbo seemed to agree with me, but it was difficult to be sure; his glass eyes didn't change their expression. I felt a little stupid talking to a stuffed bear, even if he was a large, huggable sort of bear. I was twelve and a half, or nearly; people who were almost teenagers were too old to talk to stuffed animals, and I would have hated for anyone else to hear me. But I was alone, and quite lonely – although Poole and I had a lot in common, he was a Gryffindor and a boy, and therefore inferior company – and so I talked to Bilbo. I even hugged him once I'd put all my gifts away, and whispered in his ear that it wasn't that I wasn't grateful for all the presents, it was just that I'd rather hoped my parents might pick Christmas to write or something. And while Bilbo didn't say anything, he did wrap his furry arms around me, and his paws made jerky circular motions on my back.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: I know, I suck at writing things and getting them out on time. But this chapter did go out to my betas a month ago, I swear! Anyway, I don't own anything JKR does, and many thanks to Ambika-san and VercisIsolde for editing this for me. Please review!


	24. Potions Lessons

Chapter Twenty-Four: Potions Lessons 

That Monday night, I went directly from dinner to Professor Snape's office, in the dungeons across from the potions classroom. I had never been inside before, and I was a little nervous about a one-on-one study session with him. Professor Snape was a sarcastic and bitter man, and he could be cruel when he chose (although he usually left the Slytherins alone, preferring to taunt the Gryffindors, I wouldn't have the easy scapegoat tonight). He'd opened the door as soon as I knocked and ushered me into a small room paneled in dark wood. There was a large desk and two easy chairs, both dark green, in front of a fire; bookshelves lined the walls, with books crammed sideways on top of other books and two shelves double-stacked.

"Hi, Professor," I managed to say. I was holding my _Intermediate Potions_ in front of me like a shield and trying to hide my anxiety at the same time. "Do you brew potions in here too?"

He sneered, but I thought I could hear a quiet chuckle as he spoke. "No, my lab's the next room in. If you would follow me…" I nodded and trailed after him through a door I hadn't noticed at once, on into a room that looked much like our potions classroom, but smaller. There were two long tables, with cauldrons set up in rows; some were bubbling or steaming, and some were being stirred by long wooden spoons (and one by a silver rod). Shelves covered one wall, and on them stood vials and jars of all sorts of interesting things: frogs' and newts' eyes, pickled intestines, dried leaves and flowers, and jars of various powders and liquids I couldn't even name; more jars floated in the air. Empty cauldrons rested upside-down on a drying rack by the sink, and measuring cups and spoons stood in a cabinet next to that. "What do you think?" Professor Snape asked me.

"It's, um, very….wow, sir," I stammered. "What are you brewing?"

"The back row is all antidotes," he replied coolly, pointing them out: "the first two are the Deflating Draught, and then one for Doxy bites, a Blood-Replenishing Draught, Draught of Peace, and the last one's Wolfsbane. You see the silver stirring rod?"

I nodded, but I was still a little confused. "But I thought silver was deadly to werewolves, even when they weren't transformed." Wouldn't silver taint the potion? Wolfsbane was supposed to _help_ werewolves, not kill them.

Professor Snape shook his head. "Only when pierced with silver, and it's not a guaranteed death even then; I've known werewolves who have survived. Besides, the stirring rod doesn't taint the potion nearly enough to cause that kind of harm. It just helps alleviate the symptoms."

"Oh," I said. I was fascinated. "Can I—I mean, I've never seen Wolfsbane potion being brewed before—"

Professor Snape cut me off, but I could have sworn he was smiling. "You can look at it, if you like. There's not much to see right now; it's still in the early stages. Here, I've got the recipe" – he waved his hand, and a book floated towards us and settled delicately on the table, opened to page five hundred and sixty-seven. _The Wolfsbane Potion,_ it read in large gold letters at the top. Under that was a lengthy list of ingredients, most of which I'd never heard of (I was amused to see the wolfsbane plant wasn't actually one of the ingredients, even listed under aconite or monkshood).

"How long does it take to brew?" I asked, turning the page. The instructions went on for several pages in very small print, and scrawled in the margins were notes: diagrams, calculations, ingredient names, abbreviations I couldn't make out.

"Ten or twelve hours, but it needs to sit for at least four," he replied. "Traditionally."

"Traditionally?" I repeated, looking up from the frothing potion to meet his gaze. "Are you experimenting with it then?"

Professor Snape nodded. "To some extent. Wolfsbane currently only prevents the transformation of the mind, not the body; furthermore it needs to be taken on a daily basis as the moon waxes full. I have been attempting to extend the potion's reach."

I puzzled over this in my mind. I knew that Wolfsbane was the only possible way of making sure a werewolf was safe, but even I knew that the potion was far from ideal. "To cover the full moon—er, month?"

"At first," he answered, watching the brew with a frown. "Ideally of course I'd want it extended much further; there's been some progress with other potions, other diseases…vampires, for instance. An Adlumos Potion can turn a newly-bitten vampire human again if administered within eighteen hours."

"Could you—I mean, can the Wolfsbane be adapted for that?" I asked. I was immensely interested, but the theory went completely over my head. Transformative potions were among the most complex even for normal humans; I had no idea how they worked in non-humans.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "There's an enormous leap from treatment to cure, and I haven't had much success yet. But there's nothing else out there that works, so this is as good a starting point as any."

I looked curiously at the frothing potion again. "How long have you been working on it?"

"About six months, give or take," he answered, shutting the book. "But you didn't come here to talk about Wolfsbane; we were going to brew a Sleeping Draught, weren't we?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, pulling out my _Intermediate Potions_. "I think I can brew it, probably – it's mostly the ingredients that were a problem, getting them, I mean."

"It's a complex potion to brew," was his only comment, and I saw it for what it was: a challenge, and an admission of respect if I could manage it. "Ingredients are in the cabinets behind you."

I nodded and settled down to work. An empty cauldron – pewter, standard size, self-heating – stood on the table in front of me, and Professor Snape's cabinets were arranged logically – by type, storage conditions, and finally alphabetically; not that it should have surprised me – so it was quick work to find the thirteen ingredients needed for Ryder's Sleeping Draught. I was nervous at first, because I somehow knew that impressing Snape now would mean earning his respect, but messing up could mean losing it permanently, and I knew that wasn't something I could handle. I _needed _Snape's help, and I needed him to like me. At this point his feelings toward me seemed to amount to about neutral – he praised my work in class (and apparently to others), but he didn't seek me out to ask about how I was doing, as he did for his favorite Slytherins. Maybe – hopefully – this would be the turning point. If I could only get the potion right.

I needn't have worried. After a few moments the familiarity of the motions – measuring, dicing, stirring – took over, and I stopped feeling quite so anxious. After all, I was the best at potions in our year; probably I was better than most of the third years as well. And while I might not have brewed this particular potion before, I had the recipe, and I'd brewed ones like it. And indeed, even with Professor Snape's presence behind me, the Draught seemed to be coming along nicely.

Ryder's Sleeping Draught had to be brewed in two parts: most of the ingredients went in first, in the right order and exact quantities, and then enough powdered unicorn horn was added to turn the potion a light translucent blue-purple color. After that, the potion had to be stirred clockwise for thirty minutes and counter-clockwise for fifteen before the final ingredient, four tablespoons of pixie dust, could be added. I was just adding the powdered unicorn horn – very carefully, because unicorn horns were tricky; a tiny amount could vastly change a potion's properties – when Professor Snape spoke. "That's probably about enough, Miss Carmichael."

I added a last half-pinch to the potion and then corked the bottle. "That's the right shade? The one in the book's darker."

"Just because something is written in a book," Professor Snape answered, "doesn't mean it cannot be improved on. Besides, there is a tendency to overuse unicorn horn in modern potions."

"Oh," I said, setting an automatic stirring rod (Evan's Christmas present to me) to stir, clockwise, for a half-hour.

"So, Miss Carmichael," he asked after a moment's pause, "how was your Christmas?"

"It was fine," I answered. "Quiet. I got a lot of reading and stuff done though."

"You didn't go home," he stated. I nodded, considering my next words carefully; I didn't know how much about my family situation Professor Snape knew. I was sure he couldn't be completely ignorant – he was my head of House, and it would have been irresponsible for the prefects the year before not to have informed him. On the other hand, they could have given him a modified version. Or Snape could know exactly what was going on (people swore he could read minds) and simply want to hear my answer.

"My parents haven't contacted me since I got Sorted," I said shortly, looking him directly in the eye. "They think Slytherin is a…an evil House, or that only Dark wizards come out of it, or something."

"You have no other family?" he asked disinterestedly. I shot him a quizzical look – he had to know, these things were common knowledge – but answered readily enough.

"Well, there's my cousin, but he's fourteen. And my grandmother, but we aren't close, and I just—she has a lot to worry about. I have a godfather, but I can't…I don't think I can go to him."

Professor Snape nodded. "That must be very difficult for you. It's a wonder you don't despise this House."

At this, I smiled. "It's my parents who have the problem, sir, not the House. I like Slytherin. I like my housemates."

"I'm glad to hear it," he answered. His voice was still cool and completely unemotional, but I thought I could see him smile a little as the conversation turned back to potions.

OOOOOO

After that, I met with Professor Snape once or twice a month. He watched me work through various potions of increasing difficulty, offering advice, books, articles, and ingredients; by late April he'd set me to experimenting on simple recipes, to create potions that were more effective or used less ingredients or were faster to brew. I had thought I'd start in immediately on the N.E.W.T-level book, but Professor Snape had handed me a large stack of different level books – some simple, some advanced, and some illegal – and told me to brew them, experiment on them, and try to compare steps and ingredients. "If you learn the theory," he'd said, "then you'll be three steps ahead of everyone else when it comes to developing your own." As April turned into May, Professor Snape started to give me back issues of the _Potions Quarterly_, which were very interesting reads for two reasons: first, the most brilliant potions experts of the day wrote for them, and two, Professor Snape made notes in every issue, and Professor Snape was at least twice as brilliant as any one of them.

One Saturday afternoon towards the end of May, Alicia and Maddison burst into our room as I was reading the January, 1979 issue of _Potions Quarterly. _(Actually, Alicia burst in; Maddison merely sauntered after her, looking superior.) " Lydia!" Alicia cried when she saw me. "Come to Hogsmeade with us!"

"No, thanks," I replied without looking up.

" Lydia, you've got to!" she insisted, making a grab for my magazine. I tried to move it out of her reach, but Alicia was too quick for me. "Come on," she pleaded.

"I really, really would rather stay," I protested, looking longingly at the article I'd been reading, a discussion on the healing properties of lavender by someone called Lily Evans.

"What Alicia's trying to say," Maddison put in, "is that you have to come with us."

"Why?" I asked, looking warily between them.

"You…um…" Alicia stopped, looked at Maddison, and started again. "You need to buy a bra, Lydia."

"A bra?" I repeated, crossing my arms across my chest. "Why? I'm—they're small!"

"I told you we should have gotten a prefect to do this," Maddison muttered to Alicia, then turned to me. " Lydia, well…um…." It was the first time I'd seen Maddison at a loss for words. "The boys are noticing them. They—"

"Bounce," Alicia interrupted. "Up and down."

"Oh," I said faintly, feeling my face flush. Had people _noticed?_ Had _teachers? _Had Zach or – oh, the horror – Sarah? Were people _talking _about it? I crossed my arms tighter over the two lumps on my chest, which, until then, I'd barely noticed, and hoped the floor would suddenly turn into a portkey and send me to China or Egypt or some isolated island where people didn't have to worry about things like this. "Where do people go for bras, then?"

OOOOOO

Ribbons and Lace was a large store on one of Hogsmeade's side streets. The windows outside had mannequins wearing only their underwear, and inside was full of lace and silk and things I was fairly sure my mother wouldn't have wanted me to see. Alicia navigated coolly through the store and Maddison wore her customary holier-than-thou look, but I fell embarrassedly behind them, trying not to look around me at the racks. Maddison, noticing me, rolled her eyes. " God, Lydia, it's just lingerie. You're such a prude."

I felt my face flush and looked pointedly at nothing. "I am not! I've just never seen…stuff…like this before!"

Alicia giggled. "Anyone would think you were nine years old, Lydia."

I glared at her. "Shut up," I started to say, but I was interrupted by a smooth voice asking, "Can I help you with something, girls?"

" Lydia here needs a bra," Maddison told the girl, pointing at me.

My face went bright red, but thankfully the girl didn't laugh. "Of course," was all she said. "Have you been measured?"

"Um…" I answered, "no?"

"Okay, Lydia," she said, smiling easily. "I'm Callie. Why don't we go in back, and I'll measure you for a bra and then we can pick a few out?" I swallowed and nodded, following her to the back of the store and into a small room, empty but for a tiny armchair. Her casual manner had no doubt been meant to reassure me, but instead I felt stupid and embarrassed. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, my arms crossed tight across my chest. Callie took a measuring tape from out of her pocket and looked at me with a small smile. "You're going to have to take off your robes, Lydia," she said gently.

"Right," I muttered, peeling them over my head and depositing them on the chair. Under them I wore only my underpants, and I was sure I was blushing again. Callie took no notice (though I was sure she was laughing at me secretly).

"I'm just going to measure once around your ribcage, and then again around your breasts, okay? That will tell me your bra size." At my nod, she deftly wrapped the tape measure under my breasts, noted the mark, and did the same across them. It was strange to be touched – of all my friends, only Cameron and Lyra were prone to spontaneous hugs. Her fingers were cool, and didn't feel _bad_, but it didn't exactly feel good either, and I squirmed away from her touch.

"All set," she said finally. "You can put your robes back on now. You're a seventy-two A, but you could probably go a size above."

"Right," I replied, as if that meant something to me. My voice was slightly muffled by my robes, which I was pulling over my head. "Seventy-two. A."

"I can help you find something comfortable," Callie told me as she led me out of the room to where Alicia and Maddison were waiting. "Do you have anything specific in mind? Strapless? Sports bra?"

I shot Alicia a helpless look, and she took pity on me and stepped in. "Just a couple normal ones – three's about right, Maddison, don't you think? Maybe one in black, but she doesn't need anything fancy. And it's not like you fly or anything, Lydia."

Callie nodded, whisking the three of us over to a far wall. "Then I'd recommend this one" – she reached up for a white bra – "and maybe this – this—" As she spoke, she handed me bras in various styles and colors, most of which looked the same to me. I finally handed the lot over to Alicia.

"You pick," I told her. "I don't know anything."

Alicia grinned. "See, you know enough to hand it over to an expert."

"You're not an expert," Maddison objected, rolling her eyes. "You're thirteen."

"Maddison," Alicia replied severely, "it's possible to be an expert at something even at a young age. Besides, you know Isabel." This was true; Alicia's older sister Isabel was in Zach's year, and she was the kind of girl who would know about bras and lace and makeup and all the rest, and she wouldn't resent teaching some of what she knew to Alicia, either.

"If I might," Callie started with a smile, "I'd recommend buying at least one of these" – she picked a light pink bra out of the pile in Alicia's arms – "because it'll grow with you, up to two sizes."

"Sounds good," Alicia said. "She'll take it. And one of each of these," she added, handing two to Callie.

"But nothing pink," I protested, and Callie laughed, reaching to one of the racks to replace the pink "grow with you" bra with a blue one.

"Are these fine?" she asked me, and I nodded. I trusted Alicia, and anyway, it wasn't as if I knew anything about it. "Excellent," Callie replied, leading us to the front to pay. "That's eight Galleons, nine Sickles, two Knuts."

I nodded and dug into my money bag for Harry's Christmas money and the very last of my summer savings. I didn't want to spend it all, but it felt nice to be finally spending money on new clothes. And I wouldn't need any money – I hoped – before I got my first paycheck in June.

Callie handed me a small paper bag and two Knuts in change. "You're all set. Have a good day."

"Thanks," I replied, relieved to finally be done, and followed Alicia and Maddison back outside.

"Well?" Alicia asked when we got outside. "What did you think?"

I shrugged. "It was weird. I don't like having my robes off in front of people."

Maddison snickered. "You're such a prude."

"I am not a prude," I snapped. "I just wasn't comfortable with it."

Alicia giggled. "Come on, Lydia, it's not as if she was a lesbian or something."

"How would you know?" Maddison asked. "It's not like you can just tell."

"I can tell with Portsmouth and Everard," she replied testily.

"That's because they snog in the common room," Maddison argued.

I blinked and looked up. "They snog in the common room? Are they, like, dating?" I'd seen them cuddling on the couch, but I hadn't realized that they were actually _together_; it hadn't even occurred to me that girls could _be _together like that.

"You're so clueless," Maddison sneered at me.

"They've been shagging for ages," Alicia explained. "Since last year. It's such a total scandal. All the sixth and seventh years are talking about it."

"It's not that big a deal, is it?" I asked, frowning. "I mean, just because they're together. It's not like the rest of the school needs to care."

"The rest of the school doesn't matter," Maddison pointed out. "We take care of our House."

"Yeah, and the House isn't that happy about it, either," Alicia said. "I mean, it's weird. It's not really…natural, for two girls to be…like that."

"You're just an all-around bigot, aren't you, Alicia?" Maddison asked caustically. "Lesbians, Muggle-borns, half-bloods, non-humans…anyone else your Death Eater parents teach you to hate?"

"My parents aren't Death Eaters," Alicia snapped. "But anyone would think you were a lesbo yourself."

Maddison shrugged. "The biggest bigots are what they hate. You-Know-Who was a half-blood—"

"He was not! Don't say that!"

"So you're more likely to be gay than I am."

"I am _not_!" Alicia cried. Maddison said something back, but I tuned them out; I'd heard enough of them fighting in two years to last me a lifetime. And anyway, I thought their argument was silly – it didn't seem wrong to me for two girls to be in love. But I did wonder if any of those girls also didn't find boys particularly snoggable.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: Nope, I still don't own Harry Potter.

Many, many apologies for the late chapter…if it's any help, I had this one out to my betas in April. (But thanks and cookies to them for editing – Haleth Aldea, Ambika-san, and T. Mad Hatter.)

I've written through chapter 31, and I want to get a lot of this done before Deathly Hallows, because I'm sure JKR is going to torpedo my plot…

Reviews for this chapter will be loved and cherished, and plus I always write back.


	25. Study Parties

Chapter Twenty-Five: Study Parties 

"Yo, Lydia! Hold up!" I stopped in the middle of the corridor on my way to our study group, and turned to see Marissa dashing toward me, followed closely by Lyra.

"What is it?" I asked when they caught up, Marissa slightly out of breath. "Something wrong?"

"No, not at all!" Lyra answered, grinning. "But they've posted electives for next year, we have to pick them tonight."

"Really?" I said. "Excellent. What are you guys going to take?"

"Stunt flying," Lyra responded immediately. "New this year. Hooch is teaching it, and she used to be with the Holyhead Harpies, she was fantastic."

"Stunt flying," I repeated skeptically, and Marissa laughed.

"You should do it tpo!" she urged, a decided gleam in her eye. "We all know how much you love flying, Lydia."

"Right," I answered, laughing. "As that's the only class I practically failed last year."

Lyra grinned widely and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I could give you private tutoring," she offered, "and teach you to fly." A sharp jolt shot through me, like she'd shocked me somehow, and I shrugged her arm off.

"Nah. Ancient Runes for me, and maybe Arithmancy. Professor Snape says that's best for people studying Potions anyway," I said, smirking. "Flying is just—pfft. Useless."

"Useless?" Lyra repeated. "Flying? I'm wounded, _wounded_—hey, wait, why are you listening to Snape? He's so mean."

"He's mean to Gryffindors," Marissa corrected her. "He likes Ravenclaws, and he loves Slytherins. Besides, you're in her class – she brews like woah."

Lyra shook her head. "Still. He's mean." Then she brightened, looking back at Marissa. "What are you going to take?"

"Cameron wants me to take Divination with him," she said. "And I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be fun too."

"Ooh, that's the other one I was going to take," Lyra replied. "But I wanted to be in a class with Lydia too. Lydia, why don't you do Care of Magical Creatures with me?"

I rolled my eyes. "I want to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes! Take one of those with me."

Lyra wrinkled her nose. "But…that involves writing and reading and being inside."

I laughed and pushed open the door to Flitwick's classroom, where most of our study group had already gathered. "I _like _reading and writing and being inside."

"Me too," Evan commented as we walked in. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Loretta Williamson, who had her _Standard Book of Spells, Grade One _open in front of them. "How hard should we be studying for finals, you think?"

"Hard as we can," Poole replied. "I bet they're going to be _brutal._"

"We've got plenty of time," Cameron said, grinning as he and Aaron transfigured a tortoise-shell comb into a seashell. "Like, three weeks. That's almost a month. It's practically forever."

"Two and a half weeks," Loretta corrected. "It's not a lot of time." She grinned innocently at Cameron, who merely stuck his tongue out at her; Loretta might be a cheeky, cocky first year, but Evan would hex anyone who so much as looked at her wrong, and beneath his quiet, studious demeanor, Evan was capable of a few nasty hexes. I'd never said it to anyone – nor would I ever – but it wasn't all that difficult to think of him as the child of two of the last war's most dangerous Death Eaters. Sometimes I wondered if Loretta could see it too.

"We'll be fine," Marissa said easily. "You forget, we've already done loads more review than any of us did last year, just from this group. Anyway, tonight there's something way more important."

"Than exams?" Aaron asked in mock horror, falling off his chair and gasping. "I don't—I can't—a Ravenclaw admit there's more to life than studying?"

"Shut up, Trimble," Marissa retorted, thwapping him with her Charms book. "Someone's turning thirteen tonight…"

With that, I dimmed the lights, and Aaron unearthed a large cake from his bag and lit the candles with a wave of his wand. "Get over here, Cameron, so we can sing."

Laughing and clapping, we gathered around Cameron and the cake, and Lyra started the singing. We were horribly off-key (does anyone ever sing "Happy Birthday" on pitch?), but the cake was excellent and some people had even brought presents.

"Open mine first!" Marissa cried, shoving a rectangular package at Cameron.

"What's inside? Let me guess, the Ravenclaw bought me…a book," he said, tearing off the paper to reveal a paperback copy of _Blood on my Robes: Speed Dueling at Its Best _and another, _The Modern Wizard's Guide to Treasure-Hunting_. "Aw, sweet! Thanks, Marissa!"

"You're welcome," she said perkily, and I handed my own gift up to him (I'd made him a Hair-Growth Potion) without comment, because I was looking curiously at the two books. As far as I knew, there were no Weasleys in publishing; yet the small print on the spine proclaimed them the publishers. I looked up at Marissa, comprehension dawning, and she grinned and winked.

"This is awesome, Lydia, thanks," Cameron told me with a grin as he applied some of the potion to his chin; after several moments, he began to sprout an enormous green beard. Pernella rooted around in her bag for a mirror, and Cameron inspected his beard from all angles. "I look pretty good, don't you think?"

"You look like a leprechaun," Marissa told him through giggles. "Where's your gold?"

"Oh, stop flirting with him," Aaron scolded her. "Did you bring the Butterbeer?"

"Oh, yeah, I totally forgot!" she cried, and Cameron opened the rest of his presents to a round of the Three Broomsticks' best Butterbeer.

OOOOOOOO

Two days later, Cameron came down to breakfast with a scowl on his face. "Hey, Cam," I said brightly. "What's wrong?"

He glared at all of us, folded his arms, and sat down. Aaron sat down next to him, laughing hysterically. Cameron fixed him with a death glare, and Aaron held up his hands. "It wasn't me," he said between bursts of laughter. "I swear."

Cameron narrowed his eyes.

"It wasn't! I swear!"

"What? What happened?" I asked, although I had a pretty good idea. "What didn't you do?"

Aaron choked on his own laughter again. "When Cameron woke up, he" – snort of laughter – "wanted to know if he needed a library card, 'cause he was checking me out." He collapsed onto his plate in giggles, and the rest of us started to laugh with him.

"Didn't know you swung that way," Evan said with a smile. "But we support you."

"I didn't—" Cameron tried to say, but what came out was, "Was your father a thief? 'Cause he must have stolen the stars from the skies to put them in your eyes." When he realized what he'd said, he clapped his hands over his mouth, and Evan smirked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement.

"I get my eyes from my mum's side of the family, sorry. I'm flattered, though."

Cameron glared around at us all and silently began to serve himself some bacon and eggs. I tried for his sake to control my laughter, but it didn't work; I burst into giggles again. By then everyone else had turned to stare at us, but our year was laughing too hard to really care. Finally Cameron stood, took his plate, and stalked out of the room. "Remember," Aaron called after him, "Transfigurations is first, you don't want to be late!" Then, turning back to the rest of us, he asked with a smirk, "Can you imagine what Fawcett is going to say?"

OOOOOOOO

Transfiguration that day was all review for the coming exam – or, at least, that's what it was supposed to be. Professor Fawcett started off the class by reminding us that our exam was less than three weeks away, and explaining again what we would be expected to do (since she'd said all this twice before, no one was actually surprised, although John Avery did pantomime total petrification when she reminded us that we'd have to Transfigure a cactus into a cauliflower). Then she started us on changing turnips into tops and back again, and she walked up and down the rows to watch our progress.

I was attempting to turn my top back into a turnip (which was difficult – I was stuck with a wooden-looking radish, and I couldn't move it back either way) when I heard a crash from the other side of the room. Aaron's turnip had exploded and was sending singed turnip shards through the air. The blackened part of the turnip that had stayed on his desk was halfheartedly sparking. Fawcett wiped pieces of turnip from her face. "Impressive, Mr. Trimble."

"Thanks," Aaron replied with a saucy grin. "I'm always impressive. In _all _ways."

The rest of the class snickered, but Fawcett merely shook her head. I figured she was used to it by now; Aaron and Cameron almost always managed to insinuate something during class. I thought it might be because she was so good-looking. "You're very quiet today, Mr. Viridian," she said, turning to Cameron. "Is everything all right?"

Cameron nodded, trying unsuccessfully to look both perfectly fine and quietly wise at the same time.

"Then would you mind telling the class where Mr. Trimble went wrong?"

Cameron shook his head vigorously and pointed to his throat, miming that he had lost his voice box – or at least, I thought that was what he was trying to sign. Cameron wasn't very good at nonverbal communication.

"Mr. Viridian, I don't believe you've lost your voice. Now, answer the question."

Cameron shot a desperate look at the rest of the class, but no one came to his rescue; we were all too interested in what he would say to Fawcett.

"Mr. Viridian?"

Finally, desperately, Cameron opened his mouth to speak. I could see that he was trying to control his words, but what came out was: "If your left leg was Halloween and your right leg was Christmas, could I meet you between the holidays?"

The entire class burst into shocked laughter, and Cameron flushed beet red and started to sink under his desk. Fawcett stared at him in disbelief for a long, awkward moment, and then she too burst into laughter. "No, Mr. Viridian," she said finally, once she'd stopped laughing, "you could not. But I think perhaps you had better get your, ah, affliction looked at. I'm sure Professor Snape wouldn't mind you intruding on his class?"

Cameron couldn't very well argue with her for fear of what would come out of his mouth, so he silently packed up his books and stalked out of the classroom, glaring daggers at the rest of us as he went. His eyes clearly said, _Someone is responsible for this, and if I come on to Snape I shall never forgive whoever it is, and I shall hex that person and it will hurt._

"Feel better!" Aaron called as Cameron shut the door, and that opened the floodgates for more laughter. We were half an hour to the end of class, but I wasn't at all surprised that Fawcett told us to take our books and get out of her classroom – I think she knew we weren't going to settle down. Besides, it was a beautiful spring day, and I knew for a fact that Fawcett had a free period after our class.

OOOOOOOO

"Hey…you're a girl." I looked, frowning, from _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _to see Evan's face blocking out the setting sun coming in over the lake.

"Yeah, I'm a girl," I agreed. "Did you just figure that out or something?"

He rolled his eyes and sat down next to me on the rock. "No. I meant, you're a girl so you would know about girl stuff."

I looked curiously at him. "What do you mean, girl stuff? Alicia's better at makeup and hair and all that."

"But about girl politics? You know about those?"

"Yeah," I said slowly. "If you mean catfights and rumor spreading and all that. I room with Maddison and Alicia, after all. Why? What's up?"

Evan frowned, picking at the grass that grew at the base of the rock. "It's like this. Letta's roommates aren't being very nice to her, and they keep taking her stuff and telling the rest of their House all these mean things about her that aren't even true, and I don't really know what to do. I told her maybe she should talk to another girl, but she said she didn't want to. So I thought about asking you."

"Letta?" I repeated, wondering about the nickname even as I turned his dilemma over in my mind.

"It's quicker," he said with a shrug. "And anyway she's not really a Loretta. But that's not what's important, Lydia. She's having problems and I need to fix them."

I didn't even bother reminding him that a first-year Hufflepuff's problems weren't of his making, even if his parents had screwed up her life. Evan had made up his mind that she was his responsibility, and nothing I could say would change that; besides, it might even be that he had a point. It wasn't his fault that her parents had been killed, but it wasn't hers either. "Can't you talk to her prefects or something?"

"Go up to a Hufflepuff prefect and say their firsties are bullies? They'd never believe me," he answered.

"Well, what do you want me to do about it? I don't even know the girls."

"But you could tell me how to make them stop."

I sighed and shut my book. "Evan, girls are mean. That's just how it is. You can't _make _them be nicer to her. Maybe you could make them be civil, but you can't actually make them be her friends."

"I know," Evan said slowly. "It's not that she needs them to be _friends._ She just needs them to stop bullying her."

"Evan, it's practically the end of the year," I argued. "Why are you dealing with this now?"

"She just told me about it," he admitted. "I think she's embarrassed." He paused. "Come on, Lydia, please help? I can't let her down."

I leaned forward, over the lake, and thought about it. "Well, you can try threatening them. Blackmail works. Or just go up to them…tell them that if you hear anything you'll assume it's them and throw some hexes around. You are" – I hesitated; I'd been about to say _a Rookwood,_ but thought better of it – "a Slytherin and all. I mean, what's the problem? Why don't they like her?"

He shrugged. "This and that."

I nodded, accepting that it wasn't really my place to know. "Right. Well, you could do that. And teach her charms to protect her stuff. Although that will just stop the bullying—does she have friends?" I paused, realizing how that had sounded. "I mean, who does she hang out with?"

"Some of the girls in the year above, and a couple Ravenclaws I think. And me. Obviously. And she wouldn't want to be friends with them anyway."

"Okay. So threaten the girls with bodily harm if they spread any more rumors or anything, and rig up some sort of alarm system for her stuff." I stretched, standing up. "Slytherin'll watch out for her, our year at least, if you ask nicely. And the rest of the study group likes her."

"I just don't like that it's hard for her," Evan said finally, taking my book and following me back towards the castle.

"It's hard for everyone, Evan," I answered.

"But that doesn't make it right," he told me quietly. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't fight to make it better."

"Oh, Evan," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "You're so idealistic, you're almost a Gryffindork."

OOOOOOOOO

A/N: Anything belonging to JKR doesn't belong to me. Anything belonging to me doesn't belong to you. Savvy?

Lots and lots of thanks to Ambika-san, T. Mad Hatter, and VercisIsolde, who edited this for me and caught a bunch of weird errors.

Please review! I promise I'll reply back, and if something bothers you/you really like something, I won't know about it unless you TELL me…so REVIEW!


	26. Year's End

Chapter Twenty-Six: Year's End 

Our study group met one last time after exams were over to celebrate the end of the year, talk about what we were planning to do over the summer, and consume vast amounts of butterbeer and Honeydukes' best peanut butter fudge. Although a few people were worried about exam results (Jeffery Poole had accidentally ignited the cactus he was supposed to be transfiguring), most of us were fairly confident about our answers.

"I can't believe that the Leaving Feast is tomorrow night," Marissa complained. She was lounging on the floor, leaning nonchalantly against Cameron's shoulder so casually that I knew she had to be totally aware of her position.

"Me either," Lyra agreed, tossing me a new bottle of butterbeer. "It's not fair. I don't want to go home – you guys aren't there. I'll be all alone and bored and only have old people for company."

"You could come visit me," Jill Holmes suggested. "My parents wouldn't mind."

"A better idea," Cameron put in, "would be to have a party somewhere. Who volunteers their house and their parents?"

"Ooh, me," Pernella offered. "We have a huge yard, it would be perfect for a big party. And my parents won't hover around bugging us either."

"Perfect," Marissa declared.

"Hey," Aaron asked as he stealthily halved Cameron's piece of fudge, "anyone going anywhere exciting?"

"Does the beach count?" Marissa asked. "We're spending part of August at this stupid little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It's not even connected to the Floo."

"Leaky Cauldron," I said with a grin; I'd owled Matthew Armstrong the month before to ask if I still had a job, and he'd replied immediately to say that I was hired, and maybe even with a raise. "Lyra thinks psychopaths hide out there, so that's got to be exciting." Lyra glared and pelted me with rolled up bits of parchment, but I could only laugh. "It's not like you can _deny_ it, Lyra."

"She might be right," Matthew Hornby told me seriously. "I heard that this one time, there was this cook, and she was making chili, right? So she was chopping up vegetables, only she missed and slit her wrists—"

"Wait, what?" Cameron interrupted. "How can someone miss a carrot and hit both wrists instead? That doesn't make any sense."

"Shut up, Viridian, and let me tell the story," Hornby retorted. "So she slit her wrists—"

"But if it was an accident," Marissa mused, "then she would have called for help or healed it or something. And if she meant to kill herself, she wouldn't have done it over vegetables."

"How do you know?" Hornby asked, glaring at her. "I mean, maybe she was chopping them up and then her boyfriend broke up with her or something. The point is, she slit her wrists and in the commotion afterwards, no one had any time to finish making the chili. So the next morning they were all freaking out over what to serve—"

"That's silly," I protested, laughing a little. "They always have enough food, and anyway you don't serve chili for breakfast—"

"_Anyway,_" he continued loudly, "the next morning when they went downstairs, there was a pot of chili all made on the stove, only no one had actually made it. And when they tasted it, it was the best chili anyone had ever had, but still, no one would admit to making it. And finally, when they went back to the dead body, the fingers were gone."

We all stared at him blankly.

"Don't you get it?" he asked. "The fingers were _in _the chili!"

"Gross," Pernella said, making a face.

"That was a horrendously awful story," Cameron told him. "Besides, it's not true, I heard the same one when I was six about the Hog's Head."

"Anyway," I said, "what does it mean? It's not like the cook was a violent psychopath, she was just suicidal. _I'm_ not in any danger." I paused a beat. "Besides, they make really good chili."

"And why do you think that is?" Hornby demanded.

I blinked at him. "Um…not because it has fingers in it?"

"Are you _sure_?"

"…Yes?"

"But can you be absolutely, positively, completely, one hundred percent sure that there weren't any fingers in the chili that last time you had some?" he asked. I'd opened my mouth to respond when Pernella replied for me.

"Okay, this conversation is over. Ew. No more talking about cannibalism. Someone change the subject."

"Let's tell more creepy urban legends," Jill Holmes suggested. "I know this one about an escaped convict with a hook for a hand…"

OOOOOO

I went back to my room after the party. It was late—nearly midnight—and both Maddison and Alicia were already asleep. Although I was tired, I decided to pack instead of sleeping; after those stories, I imagined every creak or rustle to be a murderer creeping into the dormitory. By one o'clock, I'd gotten all my things spread out over my bed, Alicia's chair, and the floor. It was a little disconcerting that everything I owned could be packed into one trunk; it gave me an oddly unbalanced feeling.

As I squeezed my robes and cloaks over my schoolbooks, I realized with a sudden sinking feeling that the expanding charm on my trunk was either fading or reaching the end of its limits: I was running out of space. The trunk had been my mother's when she was at school, and for some reason I'd thought that bringing her trunk to Hogwarts would be cool. Of course, I hadn't realized then that my parents wouldn't be there to buy a new trunk when I needed one; I didn't have the money to buy one myself, and (unless Matthew gave me an enormous raise) I wouldn't have it by the end of the summer either. This would just have to do.

The final things to go into my trunk were the little knickknacks that littered my bedside table and the inside of my wardrobe: a glass snow globe, headache- and stomachache-relieving potions, a small crystal bowl that had once been filled with mints, a box of extra nametags for my clothes, a large rainbow paperweight, a miniature stuffed Hippogriff I'd called Buckbeak. I lingered longest over the one picture I had of myself and my parents: in it, my mother's hand was intertwined with my father's, and I stood between them, with one of their hands on each of my shoulders. I was holding our cat, Dido, in my arms. Dido was an aloof, independent cat, and I hadn't particularly liked her (in my defense, she hadn't particularly liked anyone, either, and she absolutely despised my father). I hadn't missed her much in the last two years, but looking at the picture, I realized suddenly that she might have run away, or even died, and I would never know. For all I knew, my house had been repainted, or added on to, or sold, or burned down; how would I know?

Months ago, this would have reduced me to tears, but now I almost found it funny. I had no idea what was happening to my family—and they had no idea what was happening to me. For the first time, I realized that I could do whatever I wanted; who was going to stop me? If I wanted to, I could drop out of school and travel around Europe, or I could work year-round, or run off to join a flying circus. I was completely independent; I was fully in charge of my own destiny; I could do anything. It was a daunting thought, but it was exhilarating too. I grinned a little, to myself, as I squeezed a last book into my trunk and sat on the lid to shut it.

OOOOOO

Professor Snape had asked me to check in with him before I left, so the next evening, I stopped by his office before the end of term feast. He was in his study, and the door was open; I walked right in and took my customary chair. "Hi, Professor."

"Miss Carmichael. How are you?"

"Tired," I admitted with a sheepish smile. "I was up all last night packing. Maddison thinks I'm a moron, but she always thinks that."

Professor Snape sneered, but good-naturedly. "And your plans for the summer?"

"I'm working at the Leaky Cauldron all summer," I said. "But I think you knew that."

"And next year…your electives are Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, correct?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he said, and lapsed into silence for a moment. "This summer—you will of course have free time during your holiday?"

I nodded. "I only work six hours or so a day, spread out."

"Then you should have plenty of time to work on your potions," he said, and reached behind him to pull two well-worn books off the shelf. "I thought these might be of some interest. Scarpin is almost all theory, but Belby has some recipes you should be able to brew." He paused while I examined the covers: Olivia Scarpin's _Theories of Modern Potion-Making _and Samuel Belby's _300 Practical Potions._ "And you should feel free to owl me with any questions, or if you can't get specific ingredients. There are—the apothecary on Diagon Alley may refuse to sell you some things."

"Why, sir?" I asked, interested.

"The Ministry likes to keep certain, more illicit, substances under watch; they especially do not want children or those more inclined towards evil to be able to use them. But if I owl the owner, there should be no problem."

"Thank you," I said, unable to keep a smile off my face. I was proud that he trusted me so much; I was also excited at the prospect of using ingredients that were actually _restricted _by the _Ministry_.

From the corner of the room, a grandfather clock rang the half-hour, and Professor Snape glanced at it before turning back to me and pushing a stack of _Potions Quarterly_ across the desk. "I've marked articles in these which more or less follow from the Scarpin. And I want you to owl me biweekly, at least, and tell me what you're reading and what you've been brewing."

I took the magazines and nodded, making a mental note to figure out whether biweekly meant twice every week or once every two. "I promise. And more often if I'm having trouble."

"Good," he said, looking briefly back at the clock. I took the hint and stood up.

"I should probably go, Professor, and drop these in my trunk before the feast," I said. "But, um, thank you. For all the help this year, and all of this, and everything."

Professor Snape smiled and waved me out of the room. "I am your Head of House, Miss Carmichael. Now go, before you're late."

I grinned and dashed out the door and down the hall towards the Great Hall, dropping the books and magazines Professor Snape had given me in my room on the way. As I got there, I realized I hadn't really needed to run; most of the students were still trickling in. I grabbed a seat next to Sarah, and she turned to grin at me. "Hey, Lydia. How'd your exams go?"

"They were good," I told her, unable to keep from grinning back. "Other than astronomy, but I'm always bad at that."

She laughed. "I'm the same way with herbology—I can't get anything to grow. But I bet you don't have that problem."

"No," I answered, "I keep plants in my room, even."

Sarah smirked a little. "So I've heard. Didn't one try to eat your roommate?"

"Oh, right," I said, uncomfortably. One of my Fanged Geraniums had almost strangled Alicia way back in the fall, but why did Sarah know about it? She must have noticed the confusion on my face, because she rolled her eyes.

"Zach mentioned it. He seemed rather proud, I thought."

I laughed – Zach _would_ be proud – and was about to reply when Sarah's head snapped to the right. I followed her gaze and saw Jess Everard, seventh year, Slytherin seeker, and – according to Alicia and Maddison – Sarah's girlfriend. Since that afternoon in May when Maddison had explained it, I'd been watching the two of them closely. I'd never actually known any lesbians before; I wanted to see what they were like. But aside from seeing the two of them holding hands or nestling together on the couch, I couldn't find any evidence of them actually dating – and anyway, normal girls touched that way too. Lyra and Jill Holmes, for instance, sometimes walked arm-in-arm down the hall, and Lyra and I would sometimes share a chair in the library.

Jess came up behind us and wrapped her arms around Sarah's neck. "Hi, love," she said softly, and then glanced over at me. " Lydia."

"Hi," I squeaked. Normal girls didn't call each other "love", did they?

"You've still got one of my jumpers," Sarah said, tilting her head up to meet Jess's. "I'm going to need that."

Jess laughed and moved her cheek to rest against Sarah's. "I can think of a lot of reasons why you wouldn't."

Sarah elbowed her lightly in the ribs. "It's my blue one. And I happen to like it."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Fine, I'll give it back…if you come over and get it."

Sarah snickered and murmured something I didn't catch, and then Jess leaned down and kissed her full on the lips. There were a few whistles and catcalls from the rest of the table, and I stared at them, slightly shocked, until someone poked me hard in the back.

"It's not polite to stare," Zach's voice spoke in my ear. "Much as I'd like to."

I flushed and turned around. "I wasn't staring!" I told him.

Zach laughed. "I can't see why you wouldn't want to; it's hot. Although I guess girls aren't into that."

"Into what?"

He shifted before answering, looking uncomfortable. "Lesbian sex," he said finally. "I can't believe I'm talking about this to a twelve-year-old."

"Neither can I," Sarah said, but she sounded annoyed. Jess was sitting on her other side, with one arm casually slung around her shoulders. They were holding hands. "And anyway," she continued, "our sex life is not for your entertainment, Zachary, so bugger off."

Zach ducked his head. "Sorry," he said, although I wasn't sure he really meant it. "But maybe you shouldn't do it in the Great Hall then."

"You snog your girlfriend in the Great Hall," Sarah pointed out. "It's not like we're doing something no one's ever seen before."

" Lydia hasn't," Zach told her, and I froze, then shot him a frustrated look. I didn't want to be dragged into this.

Sarah looked at me thoughtfully. "Were you traumatized, Lydia?" she asked. Her voice was serious, but she was smirking a little underneath it.

"No," I answered. "I mean, it wasn't…I didn't mind. I mean…" I trailed off, not quite sure what I _did_ mean. But the kiss hadn't bothered me.

She laughed, and Jess grinned a little next to her. "Then it's all good," Sarah said. "Pass the meatloaf, Jess, would you?"

OOOOOO

The next morning, the train left early for King's Cross Station. Alicia and I were almost late, because at the last minute she'd realized she didn't have her favorite bracelet, and it took us a long time to finally find it (it was under her bed). All the compartments were taken by the time we managed to climb, gasping for breath, onto the train, but that was all right; Alicia grinned and said she'd sit with John Avery, and I continued on to a loud compartment on the right, where most of our study group sat around an eight-person Gobstones game.

" Lydia, you made it!" Marissa greeted me with a grin as she handed Cameron a handkerchief. He wiped his face, grimacing at the taste of the yellow goop.

I sat down next to Lyra and looked at the game, expecting to see Aaron's royal blue stones dominating the board's inner circle. Instead, it was littered mostly with light purple stones. "Who's playing purple?" I asked.

"Me," Pernella replied, not looking up.

"I didn't know you were that good," I told her, impressed – anyone who could trounce Aaron was clearly excellent.

"Yeah," Cameron said, looking dejectedly at the four stones he still had in play. "Neither did we."

Lyra nodded. "I've already lost," she told me. "Pernella got me out ages ago. Although I guess Aaron helped."

I laughed. "I could tell. You've still got the Gobgoop in your hair, a bit."

"I do? Ugh, where?" she asked, turning towards the window to try and see it.

"No, hold still," I told her, and then took a tissue from the box on the floor and carefully wiped the light blue goop away. "Yuck."

"I know. I don't know why they invented this game," she complained. "Getting foul-smelling stuff in people's faces."

"That's the whole point, Gryffindork," Aaron said. "Although if you're good, you don't get squirted. Your go, Rosewater."

Pernella grinned, carefully flicking one of her larger stones. It hit one of Aaron's, then ricocheted off of it to hit another; both blue stones rolled off the board. "My points," Pernella said mildly.

"Damnit," Aaron hissed, holding a hand up to shield his eyes as both stones shot blue Gobgoop into his face. "That's gross."

Pernella smiled, a little deviously. "I know."

The game continued for the rest of the train ride, although for the last forty-five minutes or so only Aaron and Pernella were still playing; the rest of us alternated cheering them on, talking about the coming summer, and eating as much candy as we could. By the time we finally pulled into King's Cross Station, we'd gone through three bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, thirty Chocolate Frogs, and a box of pumpkin pasties – and Aaron and Pernella were still playing.

"I can't believe we're here already," Marissa said, looking out the window. "We're really done with second year."

"I know," I replied quietly as Evan yanked open the compartment door. "Everyone's going to write everyone else, though, right?"

"And parties!" Lyra added. "Someone have a big party. I'll have a big party."

"Sleepover?" Jill Holmes suggested.

"Yeah!" Cameron agreed, following us out the door and off the train. "Co-ed slumber party!"

"Like my parents are ever going to agree to that," Lyra scoffed. "They're nowhere near that cool."

"Hi, Lyra," said a bemused-sounding voice. "What wouldn't we agree to?"

"Papa!" Lyra cried, dropping her trunk and running to a tall, lanky red-haired man and vaulting into his arms. "I missed you! Where's Daddy? What are we having for dinner?"

I felt awkward (and a little jealous) watching them, so I backed up to stand next to Cameron and Evan instead. Evan glanced sideways at me. "The parents thing weirding you out?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "I don't usually think about it, but now…it's like parents are swarming the place."

"Tell me about it," Cameron groaned. "I'm not used to seeing so many old people."

Evan and I laughed a little, and then I grabbed my trunk and Perseus's cage. "I should probably go," I said. "I want to get to the Leaky Cauldron before it gets too late."

"You want someone to walk with you?" Evan asked.

"No, I'll be fine," I said. "Thanks though." We hugged all around, and then Cameron yelled that I was leaving, and everyone else came to say goodbye in an enormous group hug.

"Owl me," Lyra ordered before I left. "And watch out for psychopaths."

I grinned and winked at her, then waved at everyone and moved through the brick wall back out to Muggle London.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: Still don't own the Potterverse, sadly enough.

This chapter brought to you straight from beta-readers Ambika-san, Ill Ame, and T. Mad Hatter.

(I know, I know, I'm a horribly slow poster. I'll get better, I promise.) My lovely and amazing betas all have chapter 27 with them, and I've almost finished 33. Hopefully we'll get somewhere before Deathly Hallows – I'm hoping it doesn't completely screw up my plot…what do y'all feel about reading a slight AU? (Not that this isn't sort of one already…)

Review! Review! Review!


	27. The Leaky Cauldron

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Leaky Cauldron 

Halfway to the Leaky Cauldron, I was stopped by a Muggle man wearing a black leather jacket. "You by yourself?" he asked, and I stepped back—he was uncomfortably close.

"Yes," I answered. I would have lied – even I knew that Muggles would expect a twelve-year-old to be with her parents, not dragging an enormous trunk down the sidewalk and carrying an owl – but it would be too difficult to explain where my parents were, if he asked.

"Where are you going?" he asked, stepping forward a little. I wanted to reach for my wand, but I didn't have a hand free and didn't want him to know I was frightened.

"Home," I told him. "Not that it's any of your business."

"You're carrying an owl," he pointed out. "I don't think that's legal. Cruelty to animals and all."

I glared at him. "Perseus is not treated cruelly," I snapped. "And he much prefers living with me. And you're blocking my way."

He shook his head. "I can't let a kid with a stolen owl stay on her own. Why are you carrying a trunk, anyway? Are you running away?" As he talked, he reached out with one hand to take my trunk, and he put his other hand on my shoulder. "I think maybe you should come with me."

I shook his arm off, and he let it fall to the handle of Perseus's cage. "Um, actually, there's my dad coming now," I said, looking in front of me and picking out a man at random. "See, in the green shirt? He'll be mad if I don't go meet him."

"I don't think—" he started, but I'd already wrenched my trunk free from his grasp, flicked Perseus's cage open, and took off across the street, leaving the empty cage in his hand. I dodged a couple of the Muggle carriages (what_ were _those things?), flinching when the drivers yelled at me; but when I looked behind me, the man was still on the other side of the road. Perseus fluttered above my head and finally came to rest on my shoulder, and I sighed. "Sorry, Perce. I guess you'll have to make do without a cage for a while, because I'm not going back there for it. I hope he doesn't come over this way," I added, biting my lip. I made sure to have my wand firmly in hand, hidden in my pocket, before I started walking again, as fast as I could without attracting more notice. Ministry regulations or not, I wasn't going to be kidnapped by some crazy Muggle.

The rest of my walk was uneventful, although it was long. It was almost unseasonably hot for June, and my robes were black wool; the only Muggle clothing I owned was what I'd worn to Platform 9 ¾ my first year, and I'd outgrown it. I probably should have changed into one of the lighter robes I'd bought with Danielle last summer, but I hadn't thought of it. By the time I finally got to the Leaky Cauldron, it was late evening and I was tired, hungry, sweaty, and didn't think I could walk another step. The bar was empty except for Tom, who was polishing glasses. "Hi, Tom," I called as I stepped in.

"Hello," he replied. "You don't look like you could drag that trunk any further."

I flushed and looked down at it. "It's heavy," I admitted. "I think the Lightening Charm's about gone. But I've gotten it this far."

"I'll get Greg to bring it upstairs for you," Tom told me. "And maybe you should think about getting another one, or at least fixing the charm. Though a girl your age shouldn't be staying alone here to begin with." I'd barely opened my mouth to reply when he ducked out into the hallway to yell, "GREG! BAR!"

I jumped at the noise, and jumped again when Greg appeared almost immediately in the doorway. "No need to yell," he said mildly. "I was right there."

"Think you might get her trunk upstairs?" Tom asked, nodding at me. "You've got the attic room, right?"

"I did last summer," I answered, "but shouldn't I make sure?"

"Well, we'll go ask, and then we'll see," Greg decided. "And let me get that. It's Lydia, right?" he asked, taking my trunk and starting down the dingy hallway toward the main part of the inn.

"Yeah," I answered as I trotted after him, Perseus still perched on my shoulder. "And you're Greg, right?" I didn't actually have to ask, since I remembered him from last summer: tall, strong, and usually quiet. He'd seemed content to let the women chatter around him, only speaking if someone addressed him first or there was a lull in conversation.

"That'd be me," he answered, and then fell silent. I wasn't sure if he was going to speak again, but in the end it didn't matter; Sonia Armstrong came out of the dining room as we approached.

"Who—oh, Lydia, it's you," she said, smiling at me. "How are you, how was your year, you look exhausted. Greg, why don't you put that upstairs? She's in the left attic—the same one as last year, Lydia. How is Hogwarts?"

"Good," I answered, smiling a little back at her. "How are you and Matthew and everyone?"

"Oh, everyone's fine," she replied, putting an arm around my shoulders and whisking me into the kitchen, where Ingrid, the cook, was washing up. "You should have something to eat, you look famished. Doesn't she look famished, Ingrid?"

Ingrid spared me a quick glance. "And even thinner than last time. And I'll bet you didn't have anything on that train but sweets, did you?"

"They only serve sweets!" I protested, but I couldn't help grinning as I was herded into a chair and handed a huge bowl of chicken soup and a tall glass of milk.

"There," Sonia said decisively. "You're going to eat that, and then you're going upstairs to sleep. You can talk to Matthew about hours tomorrow before breakfast. And I'll let your owl outside—poor thing, he doesn't look like he likes the kitchen much."

Perseus was looking a little miffed, so I lifted him off my shoulder. "Thanks," I said to Sonia, and added to Perseus, "and you go with her, okay? Get yourself something to eat and stretch your wings out." Sonia smiled and patted me on the shoulder before dashing back out the door into the dining room, Perseus flying after her. I sat in the relative quiet of the kitchen – the Wizarding Wireless was playing softly in the background, and Ingrid was humming along to the singer – and ate my soup slowly, savoring each bite. It was warm, and the kitchen smelled like bread and chocolate with a hint of vanilla.

"Is it good?" Ingrid asked me as she moved about the kitchen, wiping down the counters and sink.

"It's excellent," I replied, but Ingrid just sniffed. "No, I mean it, this is amazing."

"I'm glad," she told me finally, with the ghost of a smile. Ingrid was an incredible cook, but she never thought anything she made was good enough. I couldn't understand why that was; everything she made tasted fantastic.

"Drink your milk," she told me, breaking into my thoughts. "It'll give you strong bones." As she spoke, a timer dinged by the oven, and she turned away from me to pull out a cookie sheet. The smell of chocolate grew stronger.

"Are those chocolate chip cookies?" I asked, craning my neck to see the sheet.

I could hear the smile in her voice as she answered. "They are. Would you like a couple to go with your milk?"

"Yes, please," I replied, and after a moment she handed me a small plate with two cookies on it. The chocolate chips had melted, and the cookies were hot; biting into them tasted like heaven.

"You like them?" she asked, a little nervous. I grinned at her with my mouth full and gave her a thumbs-up sign as I gulped down my milk.

"They're fantastic," I said finally. "Totally amazing."

"Good," Ingrid replied, whisking my empty plate and glass out of my hands. "Now, go to bed before Sonia realizes you're still down here. Scoot!"

Grinning, I ducked under her arm and hurried upstairs. My room was in the attic, four flights of stairs up from the kitchen; by the end, my legs hurt so much from all the walking that I promised myself that next year I was taking the Knight Bus, and damn the cost.

My trunk was already there, in the middle of the floor. The room itself hadn't changed much – it was still the same small space, with the same sloping roof and the same mismatched furniture. I opened my trunk and rooted around for a nightgown and headed for the bathroom to take a quick shower before bed. It was down the hall and tiny, but I was the only one who used it. It was nice not to trip over Alicia's makeup and lotions and whatever else it was she kept in our bathroom at school.

After my shower, I considered unpacking for all of about five seconds. I was tired and sore, and my bed was waiting for me; unpacking could wait. I dug around for my clock and placed it on the nightstand, then promptly shut the trunk. "Wake me up before breakfast," I muttered to the clock as I tumbled into bed.

OOOOOO

The next morning, my alarm clock woke me up in time to see the very end of the sunrise. I stretched luxuriously – for a castoff bed, it was actually really comfortable – and lay for a moment watching the pink sky turn blue through my skylight. The sunlight streamed in and danced in front of my eyes, and I couldn't help smiling to myself.

After a while, I got up out of bed and started to move things out of my trunk and into the bureau and onto the shelves. I tried to angle my plants to get the most sunlight (except for my Hangman's Moss, which needed shade), and arranged my potions ingredients for the best possible effect. I felt smarter for having them on my shelves, more responsible, more grown up. As I was reaching to take the books out of my trunk, I heard a pecking at one of the windows. Curiously, I reached to open it, and a huge fluffy thing flew in and landed on the bed, glaring at me. "Agh!" I half-shrieked, before I realized what the enormous, ruffled ball of feathers in my face was. "Oh, Perce, hi."

He blinked angrily at me and clacked his beak.

It took me a moment, but then I realized what he was upset about. "All right," I said, "I'm sorry I didn't leave the window open for you. But you never like to come in in the mornings, and I was so tired last night."

He sat in stony silence on the bed.

"Aw, Perce," I whined, and then searched my shelves for an owl treat, which I held out to him, halfway. "Forgive me if I promise not to do it again?"

He held my gaze for a moment, then stepped delicately forward to take the treat from my hand before flying to the back of the chair to perch. I grinned and laughed a little. "You're such a brat sometimes, Perseus, do you know that?"

The clock chimed, and I jumped, realizing I was almost late for breakfast, and dashed down the stairs. They seemed a lot shorter this morning than they had the night before, when I'd been so tired.

The kitchen was bright and cheerful and smelled like bacon and biscuits and sausage. Ingrid had one eye on the pots and pans on the stove and the other on the bread dough she was kneading, and Danielle and Alley were setting the oak table for five. Danielle turned as I walked in and called, " Lydia! Good to see you again!"

"Good to see you guys too," I replied, and added "Good morning!" to Ingrid as I snatched a piece of bacon from the plate cooling by the stove.

She swatted at my hand. "Go tell Matthew and Sonia we're about ready, so if they want to eat before we open they'd better get in here fast."

I saluted and dashed out the door. Matthew and Sonia were in the dining room, sending plates and place settings flying to the tables. " Lydia," Sonia greeted me, half turning. "Good morning. How did you sleep? Is the bed comfortable?"

"Good morning," Matthew echoed her, smiling at me. Matthew had dark hair and dark eyes, and he usually looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "Does Ingrid want us for breakfast?"

I nodded. "She says you'd better come now, if you want to eat."

Matthew laughed. "Better not keep her waiting then, eh, Sonia?" he asked, offering her his arm. She took it, and I trailed them back into the sunny kitchen, where the table was set with steaming plates of everything breakfast-like. My mouth watered just to look at it.

"I hope everyone's hungry," Ingrid said as she joined us at the table. "It'll be a long day."

"I'm starved," Alley declared as she helped herself to some eggs and bacon. "How many people are we expecting today?"

"Quite a few," Matthew told her. "Sonia has the exact numbers, don't you, dear?"

"At least fifty tonight," she agreed. "There's that Order of Merlin Conference this week; a bunch of them are staying over instead of Flooing in the morning of. Don't ask me why."

"They're making a trip out of it," Ingrid said, nodding as if she agreed with the idea. "Can't say I blame them."

"Are we getting anyone famous?" Danielle asked, her eyes sparkling. I leaned forward to hear the answer, but not for the same reason: Harry had an Order of Merlin, and if he was staying at the Leaky Cauldron then I was in trouble.

"I don't think there's anyone staying you would recognize," Sonia told us with a smile, "but you're welcome to look at the register if you like."

"Excellent," Alley breathed. "And maybe we'll get someone for dinner too."

"Maybe," Matthew agreed. "But in that case I expect you to act like adults—better than adults, in fact. No hero worship, no requests for autographs. That clear?"

I nodded. Danielle sighed heavily before nodding in agreement, and Alley sulked but muttered, "Fine," to her plate. Sonia laughed.

"It's not the end of the world, girls. They're just people, you know—they have a right to their lives just like you do. Matthew," she continued, turning her head, "do you think Greg will be all right by himself tonight?"

"He told me he can deal with reporters by himself," Matthew answered with a shrug. "We've never had a problem he couldn't handle before."

"It's not the reporters I'm worried about," Sonia told him. "It's the girls. I'd hate to have someone mobbed here."

"You worry too much," Matthew said. "But I'll talk to him. And Tom's not slow about using his wand, either. You watch, it'll be fine."

"Do you have the list of rooms we'll need cleaned by tonight?" Danielle asked, and from there the subject turned to the week's work. Sonia summoned the register and let Alley and Danielle divide up the rooms ("Leave a few for Lydia," she reminded them) and then turned to talk to Ingrid about menus for that week—as it turned out, the tomatoes we'd been delivered were all sub-par, and Ingrid refused to use them; they had to revamp all the meals for the next few days.

In the middle of this, Matthew turned to me to talk about hours and a possible pay raise. He still didn't want me waiting tables or, really, anywhere near the customers because of my age, and I was perfectly content to work behind the scenes. The last thing I wanted was for Harry or my parents to see me, or for some official person to enquire as to why a twelve-year-old was working instead of staying with her family. "I thought I'd give you Sundays off and every other Thursday this summer," Matthew was saying. "I don't like my girls to work too hard."

"Thanks," I replied, "but you don't have to—"

"I want to," he told me sternly. "Besides, it's two more days a month. That's nothing we can't cover for."

I nodded. "Okay. I mean—thanks."

"Excellent. Since that's settled, more bacon? Another biscuit? These are fantastic, Ingrid, by the way. Maybe your cooking's the reason we have so many people staying."

Ingrid sniffed, but I could tell she was pleased. "As long as you have a word with Ronald about the tomatoes, Matthew. I can't cook if I don't have fresh vegetables."

"Of course," Matthew replied as the clock chimed. The kitchen clock was set a few minutes fast as a warning, and everyone jumped to finish breakfast.

"Just clear the plates and put them in the sink," Ingrid called. " Lydia can wash them up. Alley, Danielle, don't keep the customers waiting."

"We're going!" they chorused. Within minutes, the table was deserted and only Ingrid and I remained in the kitchen. I cleared the serving dishes off the table and started to wash them as Ingrid went back to the stove.

"You don't mind some music, do you?" she asked after a moment, and I shook my head. "Good," she replied, and the sounds of Berlin's premier orchestra filled the kitchen.

OOOOOOO

**A/N: So, many, many thanks to T. M. Hatter and Ambika-san for beta-reading this chapter for me! As always, I don't actually most of it…**

**(The rest of this author's note contains SPOILERS for **_**Deathly Hallows**_**. If you haven't read it yet, PLEASE scroll down to the review button and click!)**

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I've been going through this fic, and I could almost make it canon-compliant. Obviously, Sirius will have to go, as will Snape, Remus, and Tonks (I had my hopes about Sirius and I **still** have them about Sev, but I might as well do it properly or not at all), and the Harry and Professor Granger storylines will have to be tweaked a bit. What do you guys think? Are you more interested in canon-compliant stuff or does it not matter? If you do think I should revamp (and it shouldn't take too long; I've gone through and marked what needs to be switched), then do you have any suggestions? Who would make a good replacement family, or a good head of Slytherin, or a good DADA teacher?

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(end spoilers)

(thanks for reading)

(go review)


	28. Family Matters

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Family Matters

My summer settled quickly back into a daily routine of dishwashing, cleaning, potions-brewing, and listening to everyone else gossip. Danielle read the gossip columns religiously, and being at the Leaky Cauldron, we heard everything anyway. Most of it didn't make sense to me—who _cared _if the daughter of a rich pureblood family was pregnant with a half-blood's child?—but I liked being part of the conversations, even when that meant listening to Ingrid lecture us on the dangers of clubs, boys, drinking, or any combination thereof. She seemed to forget I was only twelve sometimes.

I had Sundays off, and on the first one I let myself sleep in until nine. It felt so nice to be able to lay in bed dozing, listening to the noise from the street and smelling bacon wafting up from the kitchen three floors below. What finally prompted me to roll over and get out of bed was an unfamiliar owl, who flew into my room and dropped a letter on my bureau before flying off again.

"You know," I called after it, "Perseus actually manages to get the letters _to _me!" Perseus looked sleepily up from his perch on my chair (I still didn't have the money to buy him a proper cage; it was a good thing he was a proper, house-broken owl). "It's nothing, Perce," I told him. "Just some inferior owl. Go back to sleep; I can get it." He hooted softly, watching me through one half-open eye as I reached to grab the letter. It was sealed with green wax, but there wasn't an actual seal, so I opened it curiously. Not Lyra, obviously—she used red wax, or gold—but maybe Cameron or Evan?

_Hey Lydia—(it read)_

_Do you miss Hogwarts already? I almost do; it's quiet here, with just me and Robin and my books, and anyway Robin's usually gone all day. I'd be bored, except that I've got a new obsession/fascination: the Voldemort Wars. More specifically, my family's involvement, and Letta's parents, and all that. (Actually I'm checking on everyone, just because. Did you know that you have family all over_ _the place? I wouldn't've either, because I didn't realize you were related to the Tonkses and the Blacks. You've got Death Eater relatives (like Bellatrix Lestrange, whom I didn't know was a Black first either until I saw a picture, and she looks a lot like you, only more evil and not quite as pretty), but you've also got Order relatives, like your aunt and uncle and your grandparents.) Anyway._

_I was going to tell you that I've been thinking a lot, because I told Robin about Letta and she Doesn't Approve. Really, __really__ doesn't approve. And I remembered that you didn't either, really, but I thought you might understand a little…do you feel guilty about your (extended) family at all? Or do you think your grandmother does? (I looked her up too. She is Bellatrix Lestrange's sister. I don't think you told me that.) Because I do, even though it isn't my fault. One of the books I was reading had a name for it, too: inherited guilt. But I don't know if that's fair, really…because my parents didn't feel guilty about what they did, so how could I have inherited it?_

_Anyway, this is really long and I think Robin wants me to go outside and be active, which is stupid because I'd really much rather think about this. So write back and tell me what you think, and if you have any ideas or anything._

_Evan_

_PS—Do you know anything about what Professor Snape did during the wars? He's in most of the books, but it's all really confusing, but if you don't know already then you'll never believe me, because it's almost unreal. Next letter I'll tell you, because hopefully by then I'll actually have the rest of the story._

I blinked at the postscript – what could Professor Snape have done, made anti-evil potions?—and read the letter a couple of times over. It weirded me out that Evan was reading about my family in history books, and it was a little creepy that I looked like Bellatrix. I knew a little about her, of course—she'd been my grandmother's best friend as well as sister until she'd turned crazy. She'd been one of the only female Death Eaters, completely insane, and eventually killed (by Lyra's grandmother, of all people). I didn't like that I looked like her. It didn't mean I'd turn out like her, did it?

I put the letter on the bureau so I could think about it while I experimented with making a better Shrinking Solution. Sometimes when I worked, I would get a revelation about some problem that was bothering me. I hoped that would happen here; I didn't have any idea what to tell Evan, except to repeat that he couldn't change the past, especially the parts of it someone else had done. I wondered again why Loretta Williamson stuck with him; if my parents had been brutally murdered, I wouldn't be spending my time with their killers' son.

Then again, I wasn't her, and Evan was _nice. _He was helpful, sensitive, and he thought about all sorts of things. He was…_ethical. _Maybe I couldn't blame her, especially if he was right and Loretta's housemates were giving her a hard time. People could say a lot of unflattering things about Hufflepuffs (and I usually did), but no one could deny that as a House, they were _tight. _Even more than Slytherin, maybe, except that they exiled outsiders and we kept our fights behind the common room door. If she didn't have friends in her year, she might not have any in her House; it would make sense that she would turn to Evan.

If she was trustworthy, that was. If she wasn't planning on some sort of revenge. I desperately wanted to warn Evan about that possibility, but I knew he wouldn't believe me. And besides, the girl was a first-year in _Hufflepuff_ – what was she going to do?

I spent four hours fiddling around with the potion. There was theory behind my experiments, but I didn't have the sixth sense to know which educated guesses would work and which wouldn't. Professor Snape had assured me I'd get there in time, but I wasn't so sure. My first few attempts were horrendous (the cauldron nearly exploded twice), and the fourth was a dud, but the fifth try yielded something that actually worked, albeit only a little better than the original. I bottled a bit of it up, then took my cauldron to the bathroom to scrub out. I'd been wearing one of my school robes, which had ripped a few times and had an enormous stain in the front, so I wasn't worried that it was even more ruined. I just put it to soak in the sink as I took a long, hot shower. I wanted to get the potion fumes out of my hair.

OOOOOO

My rule for the Thursdays I had off was this: no work. Usually I wandered up and down Diagon Alley, and on the second Thursday I had off I took all the money I had (four paychecks' worth—sixty sickles, which wasn't a whole lot) and set off to find Perseus a new cage. I wasn't sure what I would be able to buy, but it was clear to me that Perseus couldn't keep sleeping on my chair; the back wasn't wide enough for a comfortable perch, and he was getting testy. I was worried about money, too—I knew Transfigurations and Charms would require new books, not to mention the ones I'd have to buy for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. And to make it even worse, my school robes were now too short. I could buy everything secondhand, but I'd done out the math several times, and even then the money wasn't likely to stretch far enough. My birthday was my last hope—if Harry gave me gold, like he had for Christmas, then I might have enough.

Eeylops Owl Emporium was usually a little more expensive than the Magical Menagerie, but they were having a sale that day, so I started there. "Help you find something?" the salesman asked as I walked in.

"Uh, yeah," I replied slowly. "I was looking for a cage for my owl?"

"What kind of owl?" he asked.

"He's a hawk owl," I answered. "He's two and a half."

The salesman nodded and beckoned me to follow him to a back shelf lined with cages. "Everything here's priced as marked, but that's thirty percent off what you'd get anywhere else."

"Thanks," I told him as I started to look at cages. The first one, medium-sized with two perches, was _fifty-six Galleons_! I realized with a sinking feeling that even the smallest, least impressive cage was still more than I could afford to spend. _Sorry, Perce,_ I thought. A nice perch was just going to have to do, and I was going to have to think harder about money. Maybe Matthew could give me a bigger raise? Except that he was already giving me a room and two huge meals a day, and I was fairly sure there were laws about how much you were allowed to let children work and how much you could pay them. I couldn't ask for a raise. And even Harry would get suspicious if I asked for a great deal of gold, unless I phrased the request correctly. I sighed and moved to look at perches, making a mental note to think about it later.

Perches were discounted forty percent, and the one I finally picked was three Galleons. It was smaller than most of the others, but it had a tree-like wooden perch with two branches coming out of a tiled base, complete with two small containers for food and water. Best of all, it was decorated with vaguely Greek-looking designs, which I thought was appropriate.

"Hope your owl likes it," the salesman said as I paid. I thanked him and tried not to wince as I watched him take most of my money. _It'll work out,_ I promised myself.

I spent the rest of the day wandering Diagon Alley and its smaller side streets. I was half hoping to meet someone I knew – after all, all of my friends had wizarding parents; didn't they need to shop? – but the only people I saw were strangers. As I walked, I imagined for a little while that Lyra or someone was walking with me. I could show her all the shops.

I stopped by the Apothecary on my way back to the Leaky Cauldron for tea. There were three Apothecaries in Diagon Alley, and the first time I'd gone in, none of them would sell me anything. Finally I'd owled Professor Snape. _You should be able to purchase what you like, _he had written back, and directed me to the smallest of the three. _Show this letter to Mandy Brocklehurst, the manager, and tell her to bill Hogwarts for whatever you buy. _When I'd written back to thank him but say that I couldn't take charity, he'd sent me a short, irritated letter: _Don't be so ridiculous as to think I'd actually allow you unfettered control to buy whatever you please; I want to know every ingredient you purchase. _At first I'd smarted at the thought that he didn't trust me, quite, but Miss Brocklehurst – who was actually very friendly, once she'd seen the letter – told me it was as much a question of protecting me from Ministry regulations as it was from myself: since Hogwarts (or, as I suspected, Professor Snape) paid for everything, any rules in place to protect underage potions-brewers from the more dangerous ingredients were null and void. "Besides," she'd said, "I think he's just curious." I'd only raised my eyebrows at that – Professor Snape and idle curiosity didn't seem to mix – but had let it rest. I didn't have the money to protest.

"Lydia, good afternoon," Miss Brocklehurst greeted me as I walked through the door. "How's the Swelling Solution coming?"

"It's good," I answered. "Mine doesn't work as fast as the one in the book, but it gets things bigger in the end."

"What are you thinking about using to speed it up?" she asked. "Essence of belladonna?"

"Professor Snape said to play with the stirring first," I told her. "He said it worked better that way sometimes."

She nodded. "He's usually right. Can I get you anything?"

I shook my head. "I'm good, actually. I just stopped by to say hi, that's all."

Miss Brocklehurst smiled. "Well, hi back, then. Do you have a few minutes? I could use your help restocking some of the dried herbs."

"Sure, that'd be fun," I answered, placing Perseus's perch behind the counter and rolling up my sleeves. I liked helping Miss Brocklehurst—she was smart and funny, and she knew a ton about potions-making, potions ingredients, and life in general; besides, the fact that she seemed to know Professor Snape made her interesting. Ever since Evan had told me that Professor Snape had actually killed Dumbledore, who used to be the headmaster at Hogwarts and whom Harry had named his younger son after, I'd been burning with curiosity to discover more about my head of House. It was difficult to believe that Evan was telling the truth and Snape had actually been a spy for the Order, fooled the most evil Dark wizard of all time, and helped win the war, sacrificed his memories to allow Harry to learn more about his mother, and then faked his own death and disappeared for ten years before being coaxed back into teaching. I couldn't understand it, and part of me was hoping if I found the right time to ask, Miss Brocklehurst would be able to tell me. For now, though, I was perfectly content to help her refill the jars of sweet-smelling herbs in the back and listen to her talk about how the right combination could cause hallucinations.

OOOOOO

There was a letter from Lyra waiting on my bed after tea. I snatched it up eagerly and sank onto the bed to read it in comfort.

_24 July_

_Dear Lydia,_

_I talked to my parents about you coming to visit me (see? I TOLD you I wouldn't forget!!) and they say you can, but that they'd want to talk to your parents first, to make sure it's okay or something. I don't think you can bluff your way out of that, either, but you could totally just tell them. And I KNOW Papa and Daddy would let you stay here for the rest of the summer and everything…only you really should tell them. Or SOMEONE. And I KNOW I keep bringing it up and you keep telling me to stop talking about it and it's one thing when we're at Hogwarts, but…Lydia, it isn't RIGHT for you to be working and trying to buy all your books and everything on your own, I mean, you need parents or someone, you can't just be on your own!_

_I was going to tell you about some other stuff, but it can wait. I'm just WORRIED, Lydia, and if you had any sense you would be too. And I won't tell anyone, but I wish you would. It isn't even safe!! Someone could kidnap you and no one would ever know._

_Just please, please, please think about it? Marissa agrees with me, and Jill, and I'm sure if I asked anyone else they'd say the same thing._

_All my love and lots of worrying,_

_Lyra_

I tore the letter in half and hurled the pieces to the floor. How dare she try to tell me what to do? It was _my _life, and _I _would be the one dragged into an orphanage or whatever if anyone found out. And what was wrong with Marissa, that she was talking about me with Lyra behind my back? How _dare _they! I was almost too angry to write back to her, but I knew I had to. If she told her father (the one who worked at the Ministry), then he'd _have _to do something. It was the law.

_Lyra! _I started, not even using a greeting. I wasn't going to say "dear" when she wasn't dear to me.

_Stop trying to tell me what to do. It's my life, and you've got no business trying to tell me what to say or who to say it to. So __stop__. It __doesn't matter__ if your parents would let me stay with you or not. Your dad works with the Ministry. He has to report neglect. Same with teachers. So stop trying to get me to tell them!_

_It's __all working out.__ If you'd stop meddling, it'd work out even better. I'm not going to go live with strangers, and I'm not going to go live in an orphanage, and if you don't stop talking about me with other people I'll hex you as badly as I can. Just __leave it alone._

_No love,_

_Lydia_

I sent the letter off with Perseus and told him to bite Lyra while he was at it. The extent of my anger actually shocked me: usually I ducked out of confrontations. Fighting was for Maddison and Alicia, or Cameron and Benjamin Thickey (easily the worst of the Gryffindors) – it wasn't something I did. But I didn't like being talked about, and I hated the idea that the world I'd made for myself might be destroyed because of someone's idea of what was best for me. I'd made it this far, hadn't I? I'd made it through almost two years without my parents! I didn't need any help. I didn't _want _any help.

"It isn't fair," I told Bilbo. "It just really isn't fair. And now she'll be mad at me back, but I'm _not _apologizing until she does. And I swear, if she tells anyone, I'll—I'll hex her until she takes it back, I'll lie, I'll convince them somehow, I _swear_."

OOOOOOOO

A/N: As always, I own nothing. The rest of this author's note contains SPOILERS. Scroll down if you haven't read DH yet.

So, I've gone over this fic several times, and I think it's now canon-compliant, with one minor exception: I've brought Snape back. I really did want to keep everything canon-based, but…well, I like Snape and I didn't want to write him out. Luckily, though, after re-reading his death scene, I realized that Snape may actually be alive.

No, seriously. There's no funeral and no headmaster's portrait; Snape apparently dies from a snake bite, when Mr. Weasley survived the same bite. This struck me as suspicious, since Snape is a total Dark Arts healer guru, so it seems possible that he might have faked his own death in order to escape from Britian's wizarding world, where there was really nothing left for him. If he disappears for ten years or so, that gives Harry plenty of time to name his child after Snape and for Snape to take up the duties of Slytherin Head of House again before Lydia shows up. I even promise motivations for all of this once Lydia gets closer to him.

Anyway, that's my only canon deviation, I think. Lydia has been moved to the other side of the Black family—I'd like y'all to meet Lydia Carmichael, Tonks's niece. Remus has been replaced by Professor Rufford, and Tonks by Professor Fawcett. Fred and Hedwig have been edited out (I almost cried). I don't think there's any reason for you guys to reread all the replaced chapters unless you really want to, but you might want to look at chapter seven again—I've changed that one around the most.

Review? Please? Do the changes all work?


	29. Lunch with Lyra

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Lunch with Lyra

Lyra didn't write back, which didn't surprise me at first. I did the best I could to put the whole thing out of my mind – I worked at the Leaky Cauldron, finished brewing the potions I'd been working on and owled Professor Snape with the results, finished all of my summer homework, and then cleaned my room twice.

Still, no word from Lyra. July turned into August, and I got my book list for the coming year, including half a dozen books with titles like _Modern Magical History _and _Ethics, Morals, and Wizardkind_ and _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_. I didn't even _want_ to know what class those were for.

In fact, by the end of the first week in August, I'd nearly given up on Lyra completely. It was a Thursday, mid-afternoon, and I was curled up on my bed with one of Professor Snape's _Potions Quarterlies._ It had been at the bottom of a stack from the 1960s, but the issue I was reading was from the spring of 1973. This was extremely odd—I'd never known Professor Snape to be anything less than perfectly organized. Furthermore, the article I was reading ("The Uses of Hellebore in Invisibility Potions") was completely clean. Every other article I'd _ever _read had had Professor Snape's notes all over it – he'd scribbled in the margins, re-worked equations, and questioned charts and graphs. It wasn't until I reached the end of the article that I thought I'd found the reason. Though the article's author had been given in the beginning as one Horace Slughorn, the very end had a note to the effect that Slughorn, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had merely edited and submitted the article: it had been written by two of his fifth-year potions students – L. Evans and S. Snape. I didn't know anyone named Evans, but S. Snape _had _to be Professor Snape. I knew he was brilliant, but I hadn't known he was _that _brilliant. Published in his _fifth year_? And who was this mysterious L. Evans? Another Slytherin? What did the L. stand for – Laurence? Ludo? Larry?

A loud knocking interrupted my thoughts. "Come in!" I called. It was odd for anyone to bother me in my room – usually Sonia and Matthew respected my privacy, and even Danielle didn't like climbing four flights of stairs unless it was absolutely necessary. I put the magazine aside as the door creaked open and peered through the crack, trying to see who was behind the door. "Yes?" I asked, a little nervous now.

"Hi." It was Lyra's voice, and after a moment, her face appeared in the doorway. "It's me. Can I come in?"

I stared at her and then nodded slowly, and Lyra stepped into my room. "Hi," I said, finally finding my voice. I was having a hard time believing that Lyra could actually be in my room—how did she even know where I lived? "How—"

"Well, you said you had a room here," she answered my question before I could even ask it. "I just came and asked where you were, and the woman—"

"Sonia?" I asked, frowning.

"I dunno. She had really long dark hair."

I nodded. That was Sonia, all right. "That's Sonia Armstrong. She basically runs the place…well, with Matthew."

"Right," Lyra said. "Anyway. So I just asked her where you were, and she said upstairs, and then I said I was a friend from school and could I visit you, and she said definitely and that I should just go right up and keep going up the stairs. So I did. I like your room, by the way."

"Thanks," I replied, and then hesitated. "Um, Lyra? About, um, your letter and my letter and…"

"That's why I'm here," she answered. "I wanted to talk to you about it in person. Do you want to walk somewhere? We can get ice cream or lunch or dinner or something." She paused half a beat. "My treat."

"You don't have to pay for me," I answered automatically, but Lyra just rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand.

"Come on," she ordered. "We're going." I was almost laughing as I allowed myself to be dragged down the stairs and out into the street, where Lyra stopped and looked in either direction. "Okay, so do you want lunch food or supper food or dessert food?"

"Anything," I answered. I was nervous, a little, and so not at all hungry. "Whatever you want."

"That's the worst answer I ever heard," Lyra declared, "but I'm going to let it slide. Let's get sandwiches or something."

I followed her down Diagon Alley. Lyra stopped at the second café we came to – it was called _Kaladi Brothers_ and had small wooden tables outside. Lyra promptly sat down at one and handed me a menu. "Look," she said after a moment. "I'm not going to tell anyone about—about your parents or anything. Even though I think someone _should _be told—"

I glared at her. "No one needs to be told anything. I've managed for a year and a half, haven't I?"

"Yeah," she agreed grudgingly, "but not _well._ How are you going to get books and new robes and things?"

"I have a job," I reminded her. I didn't want to admit that I was wondering the exact same thing, and that I hadn't figured out a workable solution yet. So far, I'd decided to go without new robes for this year, and get as many books as I could secondhand. When the money ran out—well, there was always the Hogwarts library. They _had _to have textbooks.

"But your job gives you meals _and _a room. How much can they be paying you?" She looked at me and then shrugged. "Whatever. You don't have to answer. But you know I'm right, Lydia. Even if you could just tell your godfather—"

"I'm not telling Harry anything!" I cried, and heard someone cough discretely above us. I looked up to see the waiter and felt my face flush.

"Can I get you ladies anything to drink?" he asked, looking for all the world as if he hadn't just heard me yelling.

"Pumpkin juice, please," Lyra chirped, and I asked for a lemonade. Lyra watched him go and then turned back to me. "You could," she said earnestly. "He's the _Boy Who Lived,_ he's the one who saved the _entire _wizarding world, he played Quidditch with my dad at Hogwarts—"

"And all the villains of his stories at school are Slytherins," I finished. "I mean, his archenemy was a Slytherin! Was the freaking _heir_ of Slytherin! I'm—" I realized people were staring, and I lowered my voice. "Lyra, I just can't tell him that I'm one of them. If disowns me too, I won't have anyone—"

"You'll have me!" Lyra protested fiercely. "I wouldn't let you get hurt!"

I shook my head. "Lyra, you're just as young as I am. Besides, then you'd have to tell your parents and they'd tell Vector or someone at the Ministry, you know they would. It's the _law. _Government people or teachers, they have to—"

"What about Snape?" she broke in. "You said you thought he knew, but he obviously hasn't told anyone."

I thought about it for a moment. "Well, he doesn't know officially. At least, I haven't told him I don't have anywhere to go. Especially since I _do _have a place to go. And" – as I remembered what Evan had told me about Professor Snape's involvement in the wars – "I don't think he really plays by the rules, anyway."

Lyra sighed and shook her head, but she was spared from answering by the appearance of our waiter, bearing drinks. "Ready to order?"

"Er, yeah," I answered slowly. "Can I have a sandwich, please? A BLT? French bread, with chips?"

"Of course," he answered, and turned to take Lyra's order (fish and chips, and a cup of soup, and half an egg salad sandwich—Lyra could eat a _ton_). "Coming right up, girls."

Lyra folded her arms on the table. "Look, Lydia, I just—I'm worried. Do you get that? I'm worried that you're going to—to—I don't know, but that something's going to go wrong. It's not a big deal at school, but here…there are crazy people who stay at the Leaky Cauldron—don't look at me like that!" she protested. "It's _true._ And you could get _hurt_. And…and I just don't want that to happen," she finished. "I don't."

I swallowed and reached to take her hand. "You worry too much," I said finally. "It's safe, really. _I'm_ safe. I promise. And…if things get too bad, I _will _get help. It's just that I can handle them now, don't you see?"

"What about the money?" she demanded, but I could only shrug.

"I'll use the money I make to buy what I can, and I'll do without the rest."

"Will you at least come home with me for Christmas this year?" she pleaded, and I knew I'd won.

"'Course," I answered. "It'd be fun."

"Good," she sighed, and then her face brightened. "Nice! Food." As the waiter moved to place our dishes on the table, I realized with a jolt that my hand was still holding Lyra's. I yanked it away before the waiter could notice.

OOOOOO

After we'd finished lunch, Lyra and I bought ice cream cones and ate them strolling along the street. I felt grown-up and rich, and life felt perfect – two best mates, a perfect afternoon, and ice cream. "Lyra?" I said after a long silence.

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you came," I told her. "I missed you. And I'm sorry we fought, really I am."

She smiled. "I'm sorry too. And oh! I almost forgot to tell you because I was so upset. Guess what?"

"What?"

"My sister, Helen—you remember me telling you about her? Anyway, she's going to be teaching at Hogwarts this year. I dunno if we'll have her, but she's teaching a course in ethics or something. I'm really excited." Lyra was, in fact, _more _than really excited – she was practically jumping up and down.

"Really?" I asked. "Woah. Will you have to call her 'Professor Trent' and everything?"

"Probably," Lyra told me. "She's already said she won't play favorites, and I'd better be three times as good as everyone else."

I laughed. "So that's what all the right-and-wrong books are for?"

"Yeah," she said. "Did you buy them yet?"

"No," I admitted as we entered the Leaky Cauldron. "I haven't gotten a chance yet—"

"Lydia!" It was Ingrid, and she looked flustered. "Lydia, Sonia's looking for you, she's in the kitchen—"

I followed her into the kitchen, Lyra close at my heels. Had something happened? Had I done something? I shot Lyra a panicked look, and she took my hand again and squeezed it.

Sonia was standing in the kitchen. She smiled when she saw me. "Don't worry," she said immediately, seeing my expression. "There's a letter for you, and the owl won't leave until you take it," she explained, nodding to a great eagle owl sitting on the back of a kitchen chair. I moved forward to take the letter from its talon and turned it over in my hands. The seal was an enormous, elaborate, swirling G. "Lydia!" Lyra gasped. "That's a _Gringotts' _seal!"

I stared at it and tore the letter open. _Why _would I be getting a letter from Gringotts, of all places? Unless my parents had died, or Harry—but no. That would have been all over the papers; I would have heard about it. I looked at the letter again, aware of Lyra and Sonia reading it over my shoulder.

_Lydia M. Carmichael  
Leaky Cauldron  
Diagon Alley  
London_

_8 August, 2013_

_Dear Miss Carmichael:_

_It has recently come to our attention that the account at Gringotts, formerly belonging to one Edward L. Carmichael, has been passed on to you. Please come in at your earliest convenience to finalize this transfer. Our hours are between nine a.m. and five p.m. Monday through Saturday._

_Regards,_

_Hedrod  
Chief Financial Officer, Gringotts Bank, London_

I gasped. "But—_who_? I don't even _know_ an Edward Carmichael!"

Sonia was shooing the owl out of the kitchen. "I'm sure they'll explain everything to you in person," she reassured me. "We'll go in tomorrow after breakfast—surely Matthew can handle things for a few hours, don't you think, Ingrid?" She turned to Lyra. "Should you be checking in with your parents?"

"Yes," Lyra grumbled. "I promised to meet them in Quality Quidditch Supplies at six. But I bet we'll be back, they'll probably want to have dinner. Maybe Lydia could eat with us?" she suggested, her eyes brightening.

Sonia shrugged. "It's her day off."

"Lydia?" she begged. "Please? Pretty please? My parents would love to meet you!"

I nodded. "I'd love to," I admitted. "Thanks."

Lyra grinned, and I stuffed the letter into my pocket as I followed her back out the door to meet her parents. Neither of us said what we were both probably thinking: How much money was in that account?

OOOOOOOOO

A/N: As usual, I own only what JKR does not. T. M. Hatter beta-ed this chapter and the last one for me because she's amazing and wonderful. :D

Anyway, reviews would be awesome. I've got through thirty-six written, so chapters should (hopefully) be coming fairly regularly, assuming they get edited. I start school in about a month, so we'll see how quickly I can get chapters out once that happens.


	30. An Inheritance

Chapter Thirty: An Inheritance

The next morning after breakfast, Sonia and I headed to Gringotts Bank. I had my letter in one pocket and kept reaching down to make sure it was still there. Lyra had asked to come with us, but I'd had enough trouble evading her parents' questions at dinner without having to run through the gauntlet again. Lyra's parents, I'd decided, were too _responsible._ Since they couldn't imagine any parents letting a twelve-year-old wander Diagon Alley at night, they'd assumed mine must be somewhere nearby; Lyra and I had had to lie horrendously just to get them to let me walk back to the Leaky Cauldron alone. It was sweet of them, I reflected as I walked with Sonia, but it had made me feel like a child; I wasn't sure I liked that anymore. It felt stifling.

"Who do you think would leave me gold?" I asked her.

"I don't know," she replied. "Did you know him? Or perhaps he just left his money to the youngest in his family, if your father's side is small."

"Oh," I replied, following her through the double set of doors and into the bank. Sonia walked purposely up to the long counter, where a Goblin with a dark pointed beard looked up. "Mrs. Armstrong."

"Gabblehook," she answered. "Good morning."

"How may I be of service?" he asked her. His voice was cool but unfailingly polite, and I wondered how he knew Sonia.

"I'm here with one of my employees, Lydia Carmichael. She received a letter last night – show him the letter, Lydia – informing her she'd just inherited an account here." His gaze swung to me, and I dug out the letter and placed it on the counter. He scanned it briefly.

"If you would wait a moment—" he said, and stepped down from his seat, disappearing into the darker recesses behind the counter. I waited nervously with Sonia, still wondering how any of this was possible.

It was five minutes before another goblin approached us. This one was shorter and bald, and he introduced himself as Hedrod – the one who'd written my letter. "Good morning," he greeted us. "Miss Carmichael, and…"

"Sonia Armstrong," Sonia finished. "I'm just accompanying Lydia."

"Ah," he answered. "Excellent. If you would just step into my office, then I'll explain everything," he added, ushering us into a small room paneled in dark cherry wood. There were two blue armchairs in front of a desk, and a silver tea service on it. I noticed that the kettle was steaming a little. "Sit down," he urged. "Please, sit down."

Sonia took one chair, and I sat down nervously in the other. I was glad she was there to help; I hadn't know whom to trust, but when I'd owled Professor Snape the night before to explain what had happened, he'd sent me a reply immediately. _Sonia Armstrong is a reliable woman, _he'd written, _and she knows more about money than most people. You'd do well to ask her advice._ "Now," Hedrod started, "to finalize the transfer, all we have to—"

"Excuse me," I said hesitantly, "but, um, could you tell me why I've inherited it? I—" I paused, searching for the words. "It's just that I didn't even know I had a—I don't even know how we're _related_."

"Of course," Hedrod answered. "Mr. Carmichael would have been your great-uncle. He made you the sole beneficiary of his will some time ago—I gathered it was a family tradition of sorts."

"Oh," I responded faintly. Sole beneficiary? "How much money is it?"

Hedrod handed me several sheets of parchment. "The first is your balance. The second and third are for you to sign to confirm the transfer; one for our records and one for yours. And your key," he added after a moment, holding it out to me. The key was small and gold, and I reached out to take it without thinking – I was still staring at the number written on the parchment.

"Is this—right?" I asked faintly, and Hedrod nodded. "It's _mine_?" I repeated, just to clarify, and Hedrod nodded again. With this much money, I could buy books, clothing—anything and everything I needed. I wouldn't have to worry about money again for _years_.

"It's all yours – or it will be once you sign."

"Right," I answered weakly, accepting the proffered quill as Sonia reached for the parchment with my account balance. I felt a little dizzy as I scrawled my signature, still unconvinced this wasn't some huge practical joke.

"If you like," Hedrod said, breaking into my thoughts, "I'll take you to your vault now."

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Sonia answered as she stood and grasped my hand to pull me to my feet. I smiled gratefully at her as we followed Hedrod—I was still too shocked to move.

OOOOOO

"Sonia," I asked later, as we sat and ate ice-cream cones outside the ice-cream parlor (I'd insisted on paying, since I actually, finally, _had _money, and Sonia had laughed and accepted), "why do you think he'd leave me that much money? I barely even remember him, even now that I've been thinking about it!"

She shrugged. "In a lot of families it's traditional to skip generations—that way, money is inherited when people are young, when they really need it. And—well, what's your family like on your father's side?"

"Nonexistent, practically," I replied. "Dad's got a cousin, I think, who's his age, and his parents are around somewhere, but that's all. It's really just us."

"See? So you're probably the logical beneficiary, especially if you were a particularly likeable five-year-old."

I snorted, but our conversation had reminded me of another question I'd wanted to ask. I hastily swallowed the ice cream in my mouth. "Sonia," I asked, "how do you know Professor Snape?"

Sonia looked at me thoughtfully. "How do you know about that?"

"I owled him last night," I explained, "to tell him about the money and everything. He wrote back and said that I should listen to you about the money – that you were good with banks and money and everything."

She nodded, but I thought she looked flattered nonetheless. "Professor Snape was my head of House back at school," she told me after a moment.

"You were in _Slytherin_?" I asked, my voice slightly high and screechy. I tried to picture Sonia as a teenager, lounging in the Slytherin common room or studying in the library. It was difficult.

"Yes," Sonia replied with a little smile, "I was in Slytherin. All seven years, in fact."

The more I thought about it, the more sense the idea of Sonia as a Slytherin made. "Did you like it? Was Matthew a Slytherin too?"

"Uh, no…Matt was a Ravenclaw, actually. Saved my life when You-Know-Who attacked Hogwarts."

"You were _there_?" I was shocked—the most exciting part of Hogwarts history, and Sonia was there? It surprised me—she'd never seemed like the fighting type.

"I couldn't really leave," she said softly, and then shook her head briskly. "We should head back soon, but do you want to talk about your money first? You won't want to spend it all at once, of course, but it might help to put you on a budget."

"What do you think I should do?" I asked her, mindful of Professor Snape's advice.

"Well," she started, "I think you might as well spend what you've got now, and take another twenty Galleons or so to school with you. The rest you should leave—we can talk about what you'll need next summer when we get there." She paused. "Of course, you won't really be needing to work any longer—"

"But I want to," I protested. "I like working. I think it's good for me."

Sonia smiled – a little proudly, I thought. "Well, in that case I certainly won't stop you. I'd still recommend only taking twenty Galleons with you in September; you can deposit any extra."

"Okay," I agreed as I stood to follow her back to the Leaky Cauldron. "Hey, Sonia?" I asked a few minutes later.

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

OOOOOO

The rest of the summer passed by in quick succession. Since I was no longer worried about money, nearly all my anxiety had disappeared; I was able to simply enjoy the hot days of August. I was trying to be responsible with my newly-inherited fortune, but it was difficult; there were so many things I wanted to buy! Besides the things I _needed _– robes that fit, schoolbooks, a cage for Perseus and a trunk for myself – it seemed like every shop had something I wanted: a scale model of the solar system; a self-stirring, self-heating, expandable cauldron; a marble and jade set of chess pieces. It took all of my self-control and finally some sharp words from Sonia to keep me from spending every last Knut of my inheritance.

Lyra and I owled back and forth regularly, and Evan was still owling me with any interesting bits of history he'd picked up (he and I were also trying to make sense of _Ancient Runes Made Easy_, which was a lot more complicated than I thought was possible). Marissa and I were even owling, although less regularly; the last owl she sent me before school started was after several weeks' silence.

_29/8/13  
Dear Lydia,_

_Oh, my God. I am about to go completely & utterly__ insane.__ Cameron __KISSED __me!!!!!!!_

I stared at the parchment in complete disbelief. _Cameron_? Kissed _Marissa_?

_He came over to my house because he wanted to talk – he'd just figured out that the books I gave him for his birthday were jinxed, & he came over still jinxed – he was talking entirely in haiku, which was hysterically funny, he'd realized what caused it & had come to yell at me. So we had a big yelling argument, or at least I yelled & he said things like "Your pranking of me / causes me anger, also / sadness, so please stop." (Which is a horrible poem, & I told him so.) __I__ just pointed out that he'd started the whole thing my turning me purple last summer, so it was really all his fault._

_Then, after we'd yelled and screamed for a while, my mum came out & told us we had to go outside because we were bothering the house-elf, which was a blatant lie, because what are house-elves for if they can't handle some healthy yelling? But anyway we went outside, because we really had to, & we were just walking along by the river – there's a river that runs through our yard, you can follow it a bit – & he said something stupid & I said, "Well, you don't have to be a stupid git all the time!" & he said "I would not prank you / if you were not provoked so. / Do not blame me, then." At that point I was going to __slap__ him, but then he just leaned in & kissed me!!!!! It was very strange & awkward, only in kind of a good way, so then when he stopped I kissed him, & then Mum called to say that he could stay for dinner if he wanted but we needed to come inside. It was really awkward, & we didn't talk at __all__ on the way back (he didn't stay), & now I don't know if this means we're together?? Am I his girlfriend now? Is he supposed to ask me to go somewhere? What do I say to him on the train?????_

_Please, please, please help!! (Also happy early birthday, & I can't wait to see you.)_

_Marissa_

I stared at the letter in total, utter shock. Marissa and Cameron…snogging? It was a _weird _thought. I could understand, maybe, why Cameron would want to kiss her – Marissa was really pretty, after all; any boy would want to date her. But Cameron was, well, _Cameron_. I couldn't see how _anyone _could see him as anything more than a friend (or friendly archnemesis, as with Marissa). It was weird.

_I don't know what to tell you about dealing with him, _I wrote back to her. _I guess you should just wait and see what he does? But if you __are__ together now, then I guess that'll change things. Or maybe you could try owling him, you know. Worst comes to worst, though, you'll see him on the train on Monday. You can talk to him then (or avoid him, I guess, but I think that's a bad idea)._

_Sincerely,  
Lydia_

OOOOOO

Sunday night, Ingrid baked me a huge birthday cake, and everyone gathered around the table to sing "Happy Birthday". Sonia and Matthew and Ingrid had even gotten me an elaborate stationary set, and Danielle and Alley (with Greg pitching in) had bought me a beautiful pair of green silk pajamas. I was so happy that someone had thrown me a party that I almost started crying when I cut the cake.

The cake was chocolate and vanilla, with mocha icing and small yellow sugar roses. It tasted like heaven, and Sonia (with a little protesting from Ingrid, who didn't think it was suitable) let me have a tiny glass of firewhiskey. It burned a little going down, but it tasted surprisingly good – a little bit like the punch we had at end-of-term parties.

"That's enough," Ingrid announced as I put my glass down. "She's too young to be drunk."

"Welcome to being a teenager," Danielle said to me. "Here's to breaking rules—"

"And taboos—" Greg put in.

"And hearts!" Alley finished.

"Let's not corrupt her too badly," Matthew chided them gently.

Danielle laughed. "Next year, then, Lydia. We'll take you clubbing."

"You will _not_!" Ingrid burst out, looking absolutely horrified. "In fact, you two shouldn't even be clubbing—"

"More cake?" Sonia cut in smoothly, and the conversation turned back to less controversial things (like Matthew's jokes, which tended toward the knock-knock variety; they weren't very funny, but they were so bad you had to laugh). Finally, I had to pry myself from the table.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I have to finish packing before I can go to sleep…the cake was amazing, though, and thank you all so much for everything."

"We were glad to do it," Ingrid answered for all of them. "Just be careful next year. Make good choices—"

I could hear Alley, Danielle, and Greg snickering at her as I walked up the stairs. I was mostly done packing, except for the things I absolutely needed and the birthday presents and cards I'd gotten that morning (I'd told Harry I was staying with my roommate until school started, which he'd seemed to believe – he hadn't asked any awkward questions, at least. I was still wondering what my parents were telling him). My new trunk held everything I owned with room to spare, and it even had little shelves to keep things separated and neat.

By eleven o'clock I was completely packed and ready for bed. I was tired and a little sad to be heading back to school and homework, but I was excited to see everyone again (and to meet Lyra's sister Helen). Besides, my Arithmancy books looked interesting, and _Ancient Runes Made Easy_ looked like it even had things like love poems in it. I was just getting into bed when a knock came at my door. "Lydia?" It was Ingrid's voice.

"Yeah?" I asked, answering the door. "What's going on?"

"Can I come in?" she asked. She looked a little nervous – nervous and awkward.

"Of course," I said, stepping back. "Is everything okay?"

Ingrid sat down slowly on my bed and motioned me to sit next to her. "No, everything's fine. It's just that…" she paused. "Lydia, what do you know about, er, menstruation?"

"Not a lot," I answered truthfully – I'd heard some of the older girls talking about it once or twice, but it had all been very hush-hush and giggly. I picked at my quilt, hoping that perhaps my bed would suddenly disappear, sending me into a time vortex where I wouldn't have to have this conversation. First Maddison and Alicia and bras, and now this – what was _with _people telling me awkward things about my body?

"Oh," she said. "Well. Usually it happens to girls when they're about your age, or a little older – you'll start to, well, bleed every month. It's perfectly natural, you don't have to worry about there being something wrong with you. Although you might get some cramps – across your lower back, or in your abdomen; there are potions you can take…."

Ingrid explained all about what it meant to be a woman, and why that meant you had to be extra careful around boys; she talked about what to do once you got your period (only she called it "the curse" instead, which I thought was silly) and about how you should mark the date on a calendar, so you would know when to expect it later – "It'll come every month or so," she explained, "although some girls get it every four weeks and some get it more and some less, and you shouldn't be surprised if yours isn't regular at first, that's perfectly natural." I wanted to ask why marking the dates was such a big deal, then, but I didn't want to prolong the conversation – as it was, this was one of the most embarrassing lectures I'd ever gotten.

Finally, she looked at me seriously. "Do you have any questions?" she asked me. "Anything at all? There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Um, no," I squeaked out. "I'm fine."

"All right, then, if you're sure" – her voice made it clear I shouldn't be – "then I'll just put a box of, ah, female supplies in your trunk, shall I?"

"Would you mind—that is, would you not put them on top?" I asked quietly. What if the trunk opened on the train and someone – some boy especially – saw them? I would die of humiliation.

"Of course," Ingrid replied, and her voice was surprisingly gentle. "Goodnight, Lydia."

"Goodnight," I replied, watching her slip a small box into my trunk before slipping out the door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

**A/N: **Still don't own Harry Potter. T. Mad Hatter beta-ed this for me, so about a zillion thanks to her (especially since she beta-ed for me instead of packing for college).

So next chapter we're heading back to Hogwarts, and you'll get to meet Lyra's older sister. There's also a brief cameo from Hermione, and Cameron begins to worry about what it means to have a girlfriend.

And if you look down a little, to the right, there's a little blue button…


	31. Salazar's Library

Chapter Thirty-One: Salazar's Library

The train ride back to school was long. It rained and thundered the whole way up, with bright flashes of lightning illuminating the walls and scaring Pernella half to death. Eventually Lyra and Aaron started a game of Exploding Snap, and the entire compartment joined in. I won the first round, and Evan the second; then we switched to playing SEEP (speed and elimination exploding snap), which was far more exciting because it was louder and involved more cards exploding at the worst possible moments. Marissa was the first to lose, which wasn't surprising at all, but Cameron lost next, and he'd always been one of the best in our year. I was surprised until he left the compartment, and then I realized that he was following Marissa to someplace quieter.

"Strange," Evan remarked. "I've never seen him lose that badly. Bad hand?"

"Chasing after Marissa, more like," Aaron told him, snickering a little. "They're _dating._ He's her _boyfriend_."

"Oooh, Marissa and Cameron, sittin' in a tree," Lyra sang. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"I didn't know they were actually officially together," I complained. "Marissa wrote that she didn't know."

"She doesn't," Pernella announced. "Aaron's just being annoying. But" – her voice changed to a higher, breathier pitch – "I _hope _they do start dating! They'd be so cute together!"

"I really—" Jill Holmes started, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by an enormous BOOM! of thunder, which was immediately followed by the loud CRACK! of eight or nine cards exploding at once.

"Oh, _bollocks_," Lyra said. "I'm out."

OOOOOO

The floor of the Great Hall was soaking wet by the time we straggled in, clutching our cloaks tightly around us and holding our hats on our heads. Mine had been guaranteed waterproof for a hundred years, but it couldn't prevent the rain pouring off the brim from dousing my cloak and soaking through to my robes. I saw Alicia ahead of me, wringing her hair to get the water out, and Cameron and I squeezed through the crowd of students to get to her. "Hey," I called, poking her. "How was your summer?"

"Lydia!" she cried, pulling me – and Cameron once she noticed him – into a very wet hug. "I missed you so much! Isabel was talking to her boyfriend _all summer _and kept ignoring me. And Bethy was just being annoying."

"Do girls do that?" Cameron asked, looking a little panicked at the idea.

"Do what?"

"Talk to their boyfriends all the time."

"Well, Isabel does," Alicia answered. "Why?"

Cameron mumbled something indistinct and collapsed into a chair next to me. "You don't think Marissa—" he started as the Sorting Hat began to sing. I shook my head at his question but had to wait until the end of the song before I could assure him that Marissa wouldn't try to talk to him constantly.

"Why would she _want _to?" Aaron asked from across the table, smirking at Cameron. "Just kidding, mate."

"Hmph," Cameron retorted brilliantly as he scanned the row of first years standing before the Hat. "Bets on how many I can Sort correctly this time? See if I can match my perfect record from last year?"

"I think that's weird," Alicia told him. "But I hope you're taking Divination this year."

"Of course," he said. "But we'll see how good a class it is."

"Enough stalling," Evan decreed. "What's this one—Carla Ferguson? What's she going to be?"

Cameron looked at her thoughtfully. "With a name like Ferguson, she could only be a Ravenclaw."

"You're Sorting by name now?" Alicia asked, with just a hint of disdain. Cameron's answer was cut off by a yell from the Sorting Hat:

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Ha!"

"I don't believe it," Evan said, shaking his head. "He's actually making the Sorting decisions _before _the Hat."

"Let's rent him out," I suggested. "We could get anxious pre-firsties to pay to see what House they'll be."

"Do you think they'd actually fork over gold?" Cameron asked me, perking up considerably as he added, "And him—he'll be the first Slytherin."

Sure enough, Peter Halloway became the first Slytherin, and we burst into noisy cheers. When the noise died down, Alicia and I started playing tic-tac-toe, letting Cameron Sort the first years as they came up to the stool. To be honest, I was a little jealous – _I _couldn't predict the future or read personalities at a glance, or whatever it was that Cameron was doing. On the other hand, I wasn't the one getting strange, slightly uncomfortable looks from the people around us. Cameron must have noticed, because he pitched his voice so only we could hear for the last first year (Eliza Yu, to Hufflepuff).

"I don't get how he does it," Alicia was complaining to me when Vector finally stood up.

"Good evening, everyone," she greeted us cheerfully. "I'd like to start this year by introducing two new faculty members – Professor Trent, who will be teaching a new class, Ethics and Morality…Helen, would you like to introduce yourself?"

I followed Vector's nod to examine Lyra's sister Helen, who shook her head at the headmistress's question but did stand briefly. She was tall – nearly six feet – with long reddish-brown hair that curled a little at the ends. She didn't look anything like Lyra.

"And, as Professor Rufford has decided to take this year off for some extended research time in Zimbabwe, it is my great pleasure to introduce Professor Granger, who will be taking his place."

Professor Granger stood up and nodded shortly before sitting down again. She was short – much shorter than Professor Trent – and had bushy brown hair. Her name was vaguely familiar, although I couldn't place it. Probably she was just related to some author I'd read over the summer.

Professor Vector continued with the usual announcements – the Forbidden Forest was forbidden, magic in the corridors was forbidden, anything made by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was forbidden, happiness and fun were forbidden – before finally finishing so we could eat.

"What do you think they'll be like?" Evan was asking. "The two new teachers, I mean."

"The first one – the tall one? – she's hot," Cameron observed, craning his neck to see her better.

"You can't say things like that anymore," Alicia told him in exasperation. "You're _taken_. If you have a girlfriend, you can't talk about other girls."

"Then what's the point?" Cameron grumbled.

"If we have to tell you that," Aaron retorted, "then you shouldn't be dating anyone."

"Oh, shut it," Cameron snapped at him.

Aaron just laughed, and we debated about what the two new teachers would be like and why we needed, of all things, an _ethics _course until Sarah touched me on the shoulder. "Lydia," she said quietly, "all the third years need to leave the Feast early. The seventh years want to talk to you guys in the common room. Ten minutes, okay?"

"What about?" I asked. Evan and Cameron, who were close enough to have overheard, looked at her expectantly.

"You'll see," was all she would say before leaving to sit at the other end of the table, with the rest of the seventh years.

"What the hell?" John Avery asked, but the rest of us could only shrug. As far as I knew, we hadn't done anything particularly bad – we hadn't even been on the grounds an hour yet!

"Ten Sickles says it's all Cameron's fault," Evan joked to me.

"Hey!"

"Meant nicely, of course," he added, and Cameron rolled his eyes.

"We'd better head down, then," Alicia said finally. "We don't want to be late."

"Right," I said, and we stood as a group (most of the boys grabbing rolls for the road) and started down to the dungeons.

All of the seventh years were sitting on the couch when we walked in. Eleanor Carrow, the Slytherin keeper, was snuggled up next to Jonathon Barbary; Greg Harkiss and Peter Marchbanks were on his other side, and Melissa Radford and Sarah Portsmouth were sitting on the far left of the couch. It was always amusing to me that the seventh years, with six Slytherins, were considered a fairly large year; the class before had had seven Slytherins and was considered monstrous. It was a small point of pride that _my _year had eight Slytherins.

"So," John Avery said finally as the rest of us shuffled in place behind him. "You wanted us here early?"

I looked at Sarah, finally catching her graze, and bit my lip. She merely winked at me, but that was a little comfort – surely she wouldn't be winking if we were all about to be expelled. She broke my gaze to look at Greg Harkiss as if to say, _Well, you tell them._

Greg cleared his throat. "Right. Well, why don't you guys sit down? There are plenty of chairs, and the rug's comfortable enough." He paused a beat as we scurried to find places to sit. "And you can all stop looking at us like scared Hufflepuffs; no one's getting expelled."

Cameron caught my eye as we both started laughing. Evan plopped down next to me on the floor. "That's a relief," he muttered in my ear. "I wasn't fancying explaining it to my cousin."

"No kidding," I whispered back, and then turned to face the seventh years; Greg was speaking again.

"You all know the founding of Hogwarts?" Greg was asking. "That four best friends gathered together to form a school and teach young wizards and witches such as yourselves, and that everything was beautiful and cheery until it all went to shit."

We blinked at him. This was not quite the way Professor Binns had taught it.

"Anyway, as the great Salazar Slytherin was leaving his weeping students behind, he promised them that he had left various protections in place, and that he would always be there if they, or Hogwarts, needed him—"

"You mean like the basilisk that killed the ghost in the girls' bathroom?" Aaron asked, grinning a little.

"Yes," Greg answered, "like that. And he also told his students that he'd left his personal library – which held an enormous number of scrolls – for them. Over the years, it became traditional for every graduating Slytherin to leave at least one book for the House library, and most leave more than one, or journals, if they're significantly egotistical." He paused, looking around at us, and Melissa Radford took up the thread.

"Now, this library is only for third years and up. You're on your honor not to tell the younger students, and if you do, I'll hear about it, and you'll regret it. There is a smaller section, for those books which are too disturbing for your young eyes—it's for sixth and seventh years and prefects only, and if you want a book in there you'll have to get one of us to go in for you, which isn't bloody likely."

"What if the firsties or second years see us going in?" Cameron asked. "Won't they wonder?"

"They won't see you," Melissa told us calmly.

"How can you be sure?" Adrian asked her, folding his arms. Adrian – like Maddison – seemed to think he was better than everyone. Sometimes it worked on the students our age, but Melissa was the top student in her year, and a prefect as well—not to mention the fact that the Radfords were one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain.

"Do you have any idea where the library is, Macnair? Did you ever see an older student entering it, or hear about it?" she snapped, and then, at his slow head shake: "I thought not. If the rest of you don't have any other" – her voice didn't say _stupid_, but implied it –"comments, we'll show you the library."

We shook our heads, and Melissa led the way through a door hidden behind a dark hunter-green tapestry. I'd never noticed the tapestry before, which was odd; it was in the middle of the wall, and it was nicely embroidered with a dragon-hunting scene. I was in the middle of formulating a theory on why this was possible when I stepped completely into the Slytherin library. The room took my breath away.

It was completely paneled in dark cherry wood, with small lit globes hovering above us, towards the ceiling. The ceiling itself (like the Great Hall) was enchanted; it looked like the winter sky, with the stars glittering brightly above us. The walls were covered in shelves, and shelves formed rows across the room; every shelf was lined with books, and one wall had a cabinet with what looked like scrolls piled on top of each other. The shelves were all tall, much taller than I was, and ladders stood on rollers to reach the upper shelves.

"There's a card catalogue by the door," Sarah told us, "and our own personal librarian, in the form of a large book – tell her what you're looking for, and she'll find it for you. You'll want to introduce yourselves to her in the next few days." We followed her finger, which was pointing to the large podium where a leather-bound book lay open; next to it was an enormous filing cabinet. "There are study carols towards the back, too—they lock, excellent place for getting work done," Sarah continued, "and of course there's a plethora of chairs and desks scattered about."

I looked around me in amazement. I couldn't believe this had been hidden away for so long! No wonder Professor Snape had told me not to worry overmuch about buying all the potions books he recommended—they were probably all here, waiting. "Can you believe this?" I muttered to Evan, who only shook his head.

"Don't you get it?" he asked me, eyes shining. "Remember what Greg said, about journals? This place has got to be _full _of primary sources!"

I almost smacked him. As it was, I had a hard time not bursting into laughter. Primary sources – what kind of thirteen-year-old wanted _primary sources_?

OOOOOO

My first class of the year was Beginning Ethics and Morality. It was an odd mix of students -- as it turned out, not everyone was taking Professor Trent's ethics class. Everyone was required to take three years, so only fifth years and up were actually guaranteed a spot; for everyone else, placement was random. There were twenty students in my class, and Evan, Lyra, and I were the only third years. I was a little disappointed – I'd been looking forward to hearing Alicia justify her "anyone not like me is inferior" dogma. On the other hand, the mix of kids looked interesting, and (as one of the younger ones) I probably wouldn't have to talk as much.

Professor Trent started the class by walking in once everyone had been seated and writing her name on the blackboard. "Good morning," she said. "My name is Helen Trent – Professor Trent to you – and this is Beginning Ethics. Anyone here who shouldn't be, now is the time to leave." She paused a moment, looking around at us. "This everyone? Good. We'll just do attendance, and then we're going to move the desks into a circle, unless you would prefer sitting on the floor. This class is discussion-based, so I want you to be able to see each other. Jeremy Bassett?"

"Right here." The voice came from a tall blonde boy sitting between Peter Marchbanks and a Hufflepuff boy whose name I couldn't remember.

"Lydia Carmichael?"

"Here," I said, raising my hand halfway so she could see me. She nodded, and I relaxed against the back of my chair as she called more names. There was only one first year, a frightened-looking Hufflepuff, and two second-year girls; every other year had three or four. It seemed like we were evenly divided between girls and boys and the four Houses. I caught Lyra's eye as Professor Trent called for Joanna Umfraville (who said very quietly that it was Umfraville with a long a) and grinned; Lyra crossed her eyes at me.

"Lyra Wood?"

"Er, here."

"Charis Yaxley?"

"Present." She had that carefully bland, bored tone of voice that almost screamed wealthy pureblood.

"Eliza Yu?"

"Here," she whispered. I felt a little sorry for her – who had thought that putting a first year 'Puff in with a bunch of older students was a good idea?

"Excellent. That's everyone, then. Desks in a circle, please—"

"Oh, couldn't we sit on the floor?" a fourth-year Gryffindor named Paige Lombardi asked suddenly. "It'd be more—"

"Casual," Connolly finished for her. "Informal, like." He was tall, and bulky – I figured he'd probably be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I didn't recognize his name – there wasn't a wizarding family called Connolly, that I was aware of. Maybe he was a Muggle-born?

_I've been around Alicia and Adrian and John for too long, _I scrawled on a spare piece of Evan's parchment. _I'm starting to wonder if people are pureblood or not, and I don't even care!_

_I know,_ he wrote back. _Maybe that's why so many Slytherins wound up psycho pureblood supremacist Death Eaters – they were just indoctrinated day and night, with no rest or possibility of reason, no access to actual Muggles or Muggle-borns, until they had no choice but to –_

I took the parchment away from him. _You're creeping me out. Also, I'm not going to become a psycho pureblood supremacist Death Eater, and—_

"Miss Carmichael, Mr. Rookwood, would you care to join the rest of us?" Professor Trent asked coolly, taking the parchment off my desk and scanning it. "On the floor, please."

A little shamefaced, we grabbed our bags and went to sit on the floor. I claimed a spot next to Lyra, and Evan sat next to me. Professor Trent stood in the middle of the circle for a moment, looking at us, before she too went to sit down. "Now, you know that this is just the first class in a progression of three," she began. "Those of you in your fifth and sixth years will have to put up with me until you graduate; the rest of you will have your second and third years sometime in the future. Seventh years, obviously, only have this year.

"This class is supposed to teach the difference between right and wrong, true and false, good and bad. I have my own doubts about the ability of a class to teach a bunch of teenagers about things they've probably already made up their minds about—"

"Please, Professor, why are you teaching this class, then? Why is it even being offered?" It was Lombardi again – I wondered if she was going to be one of those kids who never stopped talking. I hoped not.

"This class is part of a long list of Ministry directives to help ensure the safety of the wizarding world. It was brought up in the Ministry focus group that the Hogwarts curriculum is very science-based; the thought for this class was that perhaps a generation of students trained in logic and creative thinking – a better grasp of cause-and-effect and basic ethics, if you will – would be less likely to unthinkingly support a tyrant like, say, Lord Voldemort." She paused as a few students gasped at the mention of his name. "I am teaching this class because the headmistress asked me to. Anything else before I talk about class structure?"

There were no other questions, so Professor Trent reached behind her for a stack of books, which she spread out in front of her in the circle. "These are the textbooks for this year. I think we'll use them all, and I don't think you'll have to add too many more over the next two years, but remember that this is the first time I've taught this class; things may change. I'll just read the titles out—you'll need _Ethics, Morals, and Wizardkind_; _A Hundred and One Wizarding Dilemmas; A Proper Consideration of Muggles, House-Elves, and other Dependants; _the third edition of _Modern Magical History_; _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century__; The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts ­_– make sure that's the 2010 edition, please – and _Hogwarts: a History_. Anyone who doesn't have what they need can talk to me afterwards, and the library always has extras if you lose yours or loan it to your roommate or whatever. I'll keep copies of _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy _and _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_ in case you ever wish to consult them. If you have extra money and want to order more books, we'll be reading selections from _Hairy Snout, Human Heart _and _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_, but otherwise I'll hand out printouts. Questions?"

"Are we going to read them all the whole way through?" This question was from a second-year Gryffindor girl named Rockwell, who looked a little overwhelmed.

"I'm not sure yet," Professor Trent responded. "I'll be assigning reading on an hour-a-night policy – if I assign something on Wednesday for Friday, then I expect you to work for two solid hours on it. If you have a problem finishing it, then talk to me and we'll work something out." She paused, looking around at us. "I expect that the older students will be more than able to handle the workload; I don't want anyone to come in without the reading done on a regular basis.

"You'll be writing for me as well. I'll try to make sure it's fair, since some of you have been writing essays for a long time, and some of you have never written one before, but I expect everyone to use proper spelling and grammar. Get someone to look over your essay if you need to. I also expect that you will all back up your statements with solid, logical arguments. Evaluate your sources. Explain why you disagree, if you disagree. I won't mark off if I don't like what you're telling me, but I will mark off if you can't support it." She glanced up at the clock; there were maybe thirty minutes left to the class. "Any questions? No? Then read the introduction and first chapter of _Ethics, Morals, and Wizardkind _and the introduction from _A Hundred and One Wizarding Dilemmas_, and please bring them both with you to the next class. You're dismissed."

We grinned at her – thirty minutes free was a gift – and Evan and I stopped to apologize for passing notes before we left. "Just don't do it again," she told us, but she didn't really sound angry. "I'm glad you're asking yourselves that sort of question, though – you'll have noticed that Muggle-born enrollment is down?"

"Of course," Evan said (I only nodded – I hadn't actually noticed a huge difference), "but I just thought it was just a typical rise-and-fall thing."

"It's a symptom of a growing problem – Voldemort's defeat did not remove the anti-Muggle lobbyists from the Ministry, and there's a growing movement of isolation coming up again. That combined with Muggle parents' concerns about the safety of their children has led to a decided dip in Muggle-born wizards and witches being trained." She paused thoughtfully. "This sort of thing never leads to anything good. Maybe we should talk about it in class – especially if you're already thinking about it. Do you think it's such a problem with the rest of the students?"

Evan and I exchanged hesitant glances. "Our House is the only one without Muggle-borns," I explained finally. "And we have the most—"

"Pyscho pureblood supremacists?" Professor Trent asked, finally smiling. "I see. Well, maybe we'll talk about it anyway. Don't forget to do the reading," she added, and Evan only grinned.

"I never forget to do the reading," he insisted. "Come on, Lydia, let's go. I think John's grandmother sent him cookies this morning – let's see if he wants to share."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: Erm, I still don't own anything JKR does. I'm just playing.

T. M. Hatter, Ambika-san, and Ill Ame all beta-ed this for me, meaning they deserve love and thanks and such. Also, loads of thanks to ShadowCub, who pointed out that I'd uploaded Chapter 30 again...

Next chapter is an actual class with Professor Trent.

Review—tell me what I'm doing wrong!


	32. Beginning Ethics and Morality

Chapter Thirty-Two: Beginning Ethics and Morality

Professor Trent's class wasn't the only one people were talking about, of course. The new Defense teacher, Professor Granger, had caught everyone's attention when she'd opened her first class (fifth year 'Puffs and Gryffindorks) by telling them it was a travesty they'd never learned any combative magic, and she was going to start them on dueling immediately. One of the boys (people disagreed over whether it was a Gryffindor, for generally idiocy, or a Hufflepuff, for adherence to the rules) had replied that the Ministry wouldn't let them learn to duel, because it could conceivably lead to another Dark wizard – and Professor Granger had snapped back that dueling could very well save someone's life, and told them that she was going to speak to the Minister immediately and in the meantime they could all go and write her an essay on how, where, and why dueling saved Harry Potter's life when he was fourteen.

No one had expected her to change anything – the Ministry hadn't let students under fourth year do _anything _in Defense for years, and even the older students had tight restrictions – but the next morning the change in Ministry policy was all over the _Prophet_, and everyone was talking about Professor Granger. Because she'd extended the dueling essay to all her students, I owled Harry for details (I figured it was faster, and probably more accurate, than the library); he let slip that Professor Granger was, in fact, Hermione – the girl he'd been best friends with at school. That, more than anything else, worried me. Anyone that close to Harry would be sure to tell him if she knew there was something wrong with me; worse yet, she knew my mother, and if she were to find out about my lack of proper parental attention, Professor Granger might try to bypass Harry and go directly to her! I wasn't sure what to do, but I hoped that the same tactic that had worked on Teddy would work with Professor Granger: ignoring her. After I'd been Sorted, two years before, I'd worked very hard to make sure that Teddy and I narrowly avoided each other in the halls; by the time Easter rolled around, he was so used to not talking to me that he didn't ask why I wasn't at home. Maybe Professor Granger would be the same – at any rate, the only sign she gave that she recognized my name was a level stare when she took the roll.

"I am Professor Granger, obviously," she introduced herself. "I'm here to teach you to defend yourselves against the Dark Arts – Dark creatures this year, but we'll touch on what you should have learned last year and the year before."

"Professor Rufford only taught what the Ministry would let him," Jill Holmes piped up. "It wasn't his fault."

"No," Professor Granger allowed, "but someone should have seen to it a long time ago that the curriculum was fixed. Hogwarts third years should be able to handle basic dueling and most Dark creatures." She paused a moment. "But you're right, Professor Rufford was not at fault. Now, I think you all owe me an essay on dueling?"

We groaned and handed our essays up. She'd wanted two feet, which – as Lyra was quick to point out – was beyond unfair when we'd never had her before. (Professor Granger was also Lyra's aunt; apparently this gave her license to be more annoyed than the rest of us.) She'd calmed down a little when I'd handed her Harry's account of the duel. Harry was, after all, the best source possible.

"Did anything strike you about the situation as you did your research?" she asked as she counted the rolls of parchment.

I wanted to raise my hand, but I was loath to speak up; the less Professor Granger heard from me, the less likely she was to think about writing to Harry about the color of my badge. Besides, Evan's hand was already up in the air.

"Well," he started at her nod, "He Who Must Not Be Named finally had Potter in his grasp, and could have killed him…but instead he waited, and played with him, and gave him back his _wand_. And so then Potter beat him, again."

"Precisely," Professor Granger said. "First lesson: when you have your enemy cornered, don't give him – or her – the opportunity to escape. Now, does anyone know what a boggart is?"

We spent the rest of the class learning about boggarts, and even – towards the end – got to take one on. I was disappointed that I didn't get to face it, but not too disappointed; everyone would now know that Alicia's worst fear was rats, and that Lyra and Poole were both terrified of clowns, and that – most disconcerting – Evan's worst fear was himself. I thought Professor Granger must not be very wise, to do boggarts with a mixed class – they made perfect material for teasing later on (although Evan, it seemed, got awed respect instead – everyone wondered what he'd done, to be that afraid of himself. I knew better, though. It wasn't what Evan had _done_; it was what his parents done, what he was, what he could become).

I dreamt that night that I had to take on two boggarts with the whole school watching, and that one turned into my father and one into my mother, and they chased me all around the Great Hall. When I finally turned and shouted "_Riddikulus_!" a bolt of green light shot from my wand and killed my parents instead of vanishing them, and Professor Granger kept saying, "I'll have to write to Harry now, so he can keep you out of Azkaban."

OOOOOO

"What's the difference between right and wrong?" Professor Trent started our class. It was one of those sunny fall days, so warm it was easy to think it was still summer except for the gold and red leaves scattered on the grass; it hadn't taken much for Lombardi to convince Professor Trent to let us have class outside. I'd heard Jonathon – a fifth year Slytherin – mutter to Peter Marchbanks and Sarah that Lombardi was a "suckup teacher's pet." I didn't really think that was fair, because Professor Trent probably would have taken us outside no matter who'd asked; she seemed nice like that.

"Well, right things are good, and wrong things are bad," Tobin said after a moment. I exchanged glances with Evan – what kind of answer was that, even for a second-year?

"Okay," Professor Trent allowed, "but then what's the difference between good and bad?"

The entire class was silent.

"We'll try again. How can you tell what's good and what's bad, or what's right and what's wrong?"

Lyra tentatively raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Wood?"

"What about the Bible?" she asked. "I mean, can't people read the Bible, and then whatever Jesus says, you know that's the right thing to do."

I saw Sarah's hand move up. "Correct me if I'm wrong," she started, "but I was under the impression that the Bible had a very strong stance against sorcery, among other things. How can you take that kind of source seriously?"

"It does not," Lyra snapped. She sounded offended. Professor Trent merely flicked her wand, and a large leather-bound book flew from an open window and landed in front of Sarah.

"Perhaps you could find the verse you're referencing?"

Sarah bent over the book for several moments. "Here," she said finally. "'He ... observed times, and used enchantments, and dealt with familiar spirits and wizards: he wrought much wickedness in the sight of the Lord.' That's Second Kings, chapter twenty-one, verse six. And again, from Exodus twenty-two, verse eighteen: 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' That seems pretty clear to me."

"Yeah, but it isn't—" Lyra stopped for a moment. "I mean, _Jesus_ didn't say anything about it. Those quotes are from the Old Testament—"

"So what you're saying," Sarah cut in, "is that you'll follow what's in the Bible sometimes, when you like it—"

"When it's something Jesus said!"

"So the Ten Commandments don't count?" Sarah asked coolly.

"No, they count…"

"Uh-huh," Sarah replied. "You say the Bible tells us what to do, but only some parts; the Old Testament isn't valid, except where it is; the New Testament is valid, except where it isn't—"

"But the Bible comes from God!" Lyra protested. She sounded frustrated.

"Well, either God doesn't like what's right, or it doesn't come from God, or you're completely wrong and evil," Sarah told her calmly. "Logic, Wood."

"Anyone else have something to say?" Professor Trent asked, silencing Lyra's retort with a look. "And Miss Portsmouth, let's refrain from calling anyone wrong or evil in this classroom." She paused half a second as a bumblebee buzzed near her face. "Even when we aren't actually in the room."

"What about what your parents say?" Yu whispered. I exchanged looks with Evan. _Hufflepuffs_, mine clearly said.

"Unless your parents are in Azkaban for the brutal murder of your classmate's parents," Evan said thoughtfully. "I mean, that could potentially cause some reliability issues."

There was a very long, awkward silence.

"What?" Evan said finally. "I mean, just hypothetically. Your parents might not have all the answers, you know."

"What you all seem to be getting at," Professor Trent said quietly, "is the question of reliability – what does it mean when a source is not completely reliable? What tells us that" – with a nod at Lyra – "the Bible's condemnation of murder is right but that the endorsement of slavery is not? Clearly there are some principles here." Professor Trent paused, then: "Miss Yu, you said your parents told you to do what was right?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"What would you do if they told you to kill a baby?"

"That's stupid. They wouldn't," she blurted out immediately, before realizing what she'd said. "Sorry, Professor!"

"No, no worries. Mr. Cauldwell, what does her answer mean?"

Cauldwell fingered the badger on his badge as he formulated a reply. "Well, either her parents do what's right, or what her parents do is right. So since Eliza's parents wouldn't kill a baby because it's wrong…" He stopped, frowning. "Okay, got it. If what her parents do is right, then it would only be wrong if they didn't do it—if they do something, it would be right. I think what Eliza means is that it's already wrong, which means that her parents only do right things – there's something else that says what's right."

"Excellent, Mr. Cauldwell! Now, there are people who think both ways. Some people think that good and bad, right and wrong are relative terms, varying culture to culture, family to family, and person to person. Other people think that something truly good is always good. Look up Plato for that view." She paused and looked around at us. "For next class, I want you to write an essay for me explaining how you determine right from wrong. Take as much parchment as you need."

That was as much dismissal as Professor Trent usually gave, so we all stood up and gathered our things. "Hey, Rookwood?" I looked up to see Charis Yaxley standing in front of us.

"I'll wait with Lyra," I muttered to him and scooted over to stand with Lyra. "You okay with the whole Bible thing?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Just irritated, that's all. You don't agree with her, do you?"

"Well…" I didn't want to admit to Lyra that I tended to agree with Sarah on most things. "I mean, I think she has a point…"

"Do you believe in God?" she asked.

"Um, I don't know," I said slowly. "I've never had any reason to or anything."

"What about Heaven? If you believe in Jesus, then you can go live with Him in Heaven after you're dead."

I blinked at her. "Only if you believe in Jesus?"

"Well, yeah. You have to be saved," she explained. I didn't tell it to Lyra, but I kind of thought life wouldn't be as much fun if Sarah wasn't around. On the other hand, eternity without Lyra would be pretty boring too. I was about to ask what this Jesus person had said, exactly (and what the Ten Commandments were) when Evan made his way over to us.

"What'd she want?" I asked, nodding over at Charis Yaxley.

"Her? Nothing, really," he told me. He didn't say anything else about it, and I didn't mention it again until Lyra had left us and we were back in the cool of the Slytherin dungeons.

"Well, what did she really want?" I asked him.

"You know her uncle was a Death Eater?" I hadn't known, but I nodded anyway. "Well, her cousin's here, and apparently he's having problems with dealing with it—his father's in Azkaban, like my parents. She asked if I'd talk to him."

"What House is he?" I couldn't remember hearing about a Yaxley in Slytherin.

"Ravenclaw, like her. He's a firstie, I think. She said his mum didn't tell him about his father, really, but I guess one of his roommates has an Auror for a mother, so…." His tone of voice made it clear that Evan didn't feel that hiding this kid's father's allegiance had been a good idea, no matter how kindly meant.

"Have you always known about yours?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Robin's mum, my Aunt Eleanor, she'd always tell me that my parents were sick, and that's why they were in Azkaban and so—so sick-looking. But then Robin stayed over one night and I had a nightmare about the dementors, and when Aunt Eleanor came home they had a huge row and Robin took me to her place the next day. She told me on the way what my parents were, and why they were…where they were, and that I didn't ever have to see them again."

"Wait," I said, interrupting his story. "You don't mean that your aunt actually used to take you to _Azkaban_?"

Evan nodded. "She thought I should see my parents. My mum was her sister. I think she felt badly that she hadn't been able to keep them out of prison—my aunt was in the Ministry. So she made sure that her sister—my mother—could see me, every first Sunday of the month." He paused, kicking at a loose stone on the dungeon floor. "I don't think she really recognized me, after a while, to tell you the truth. The dementors can really screw with a person's head. But Aunt Eleanor thought it was important, I guess."

"Oh," I replied. It wasn't any of my business, but I didn't think it was right for anyone to take a child to Azkaban, and if the only people who were benefiting from his visits were murderers, how was that right for anyone?

OOOOOO

"Oh my God, did you hear?" Alicia cried, grabbing me as I walked into our room. "Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" I asked as I disentangled myself from her grasp and shook off my wet cloak (there'd been a surprise October rainstorm, and I'd been caught unawares in greenhouse four).

"There's going to be a Halloween _ball_!" she gushed. "It's going to be amazing and go all night and I can't wait! I only just heard from some of the Ravenclaw sixth years, and they said it was going to be formal and everyone was going to have dates and I don't have the right _robes_…"

"Alicia," I cut in. "Calm down, okay? It's going to be all right—"

"And a date!" she shrieked. "Oh my God, Lydia, who will I _go _with? Do you think John will ask me? What if no one asks me? I'll be a social loser and outcast and no one will ever like me, and—"

"Alicia, would you shut up?" Maddison snapped. "No one wants to hear you blathering on like that."

"You're just jealous," Alicia sniffed, "because no one is going to ask you, and you'll have to stay here while I'm at the ball."

"As if," Maddison shot back. "Who'd ask you?"

"John might!"

"John's a bigot," Maddison retorted. "Although I guess that means you're perfect together, doesn't it?"

"Maddison!"

"Maddison, lay off," I said finally. "John's nice, anyway."

"Yeah, a nice bigot."

"Maddison!"

"You're both so naïve," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's not about whether he's nice or not. Anyone who thinks the vast majority of people are inferior to him because of their blood is a bigot, and you can't have it both ways," she continued, folding her arms. "If someone thinks I'm inferior, he can't be my friend. That's just _stupid_."

"Can't you…I don't know, ignore it or something?" I asked. "He never says anything to you, does he?"

Maddison just sighed, heavily. "God, Lydia, grow up, would you?"

"What?" I demanded as she stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. "What did I say?"

"It's just Maddison," Alicia told me. "You know how she gets. Do you want to go into Hogsmeade this weekend for dress robes?"

"Uh, sure," I replied, but inwardly I was a little worried. Alicia could go with John, and Cameron would take Marissa if they weren't fighting (they had huge screaming matches at least once every two weeks, and had already broken up and gotten back together twice), and probably Evan would take Loretta, but I couldn't think of any boys I'd want to go with.

OOOOOOOOOO

A/N: Again, I don't own Harry Potter. Ambika-san, Ill Ame, and T. M. Hatter all looked this over for me, so you should love them and give them cookies and such.

College actually involves lots of stuff, which is why I've been taking so long. Hopefully, now that Orientation is almost over, the next chapter won't take so long – and if it does, hopefully that's because I'm actually working on plotlines, not because I'm writing papers. It might surprise some of you (especially those of you thinking "But where's Lyra?"), but originally Lyra was so much of a main character that I was considering alternating POVs with Lydia. Instead, I've sort of systematically cut out all of her backstory, and so there's a little plot tinkering that needs to be done.

Anyway, review, tell me what I'm doing wrong! (Or if I've uploaded the wrong chapter, as ShadowCub realized last time.)


	33. Midnight Conversations

Chapter Thirty-Three: Midnight Conversations

It turned out I needn't have worried about the Ball: we found out two days later that it was only for fourth years and up. There would be an early feast for the whole school, and then the Great Hall would be transformed into a spectacular ballroom for the older students, while the rest of us went to bed.

Reactions to this were mixed. Alicia locked herself in our bathroom for four hours (Maddison and I had to use the first year's), but the news put Cameron in a cheerful mood (until Marissa realized that he was happy about not going to a ball with her, at which point the fireworks started). I was more relieved than anything else – shopping for robes sounded like more trouble than it was worth, and I wasn't looking forward to dressing up and dancing with some boy I probably wouldn't like like that, after which there might be kissing, which Marissa said was enjoyable but I was iffy on.

Like Alicia, Lyra seemed disappointed when they announced it, which surprised me. I didn't get to ask her why until the end of Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Professor Granger set us to practicing simple jinxes. "Did you want to go to the ball or something?" I asked her as I ducked her Leg-Locker Curse. "You looked upset when Vector said we couldn't."

She shook her head. "Well, I mean, not about the ball, exactly. I was really excited about it because Matt asked me to go with him, and then when Vector said we couldn't go I was so mad! But then Matt said maybe we could just go out to Hogsmeade instead, and that's just as good. Better, even, because I don't have to go buy some stupid frilly dress robes."

"Oh," I replied, as I sent back a Tickling Charm. It must have been particularly strong, because it hit Lyra square in the chest and knocked her, giggling madly, onto the floor. "I didn't know you liked him." For some reason, Lyra's exhilaration bothered me. Why was she so happy about going somewhere with Hornby?

"Well, I've always sort of liked him," she confessed, "only I never said anything to anyone, because…you know, it would sound stupid. Only then it turned out he likes me too!" She said this all through huge bursts of laughter, and it was only after Professor Granger aimed a counter-curse in her direction that Lyra was able to stand back up. "Lydia…you aren't mad, are you? I mean…you don't like him, do you?"

I stared at her, shaking my head. Hornby? She thought I liked _Hornby_? He was irritating and pompous, and his hair looked idiotic, always messy and in his eyes, and the idea of kissing him or snogging in the library stacks…. "Ugh, no! Why would you think that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. You sounded kind of…mad, or something. I just wanted to make sure you weren't jealous or anything."

"Jealous?" I repeated incredulously. "Why would I be _jealous_? He looks like a _goat._"

"Don't call my boyfriend a goat," Lyra snapped. "I was just asking, okay? Sheesh."

"Oh, he's your boyfriend now? I thought you hadn't even gone anywhere—" The bell cut me off, and Lyra scooted out of the room before I could finish my sentence. I almost didn't mind; if she wanted to go out with some Gryffindork goat boy and then have the nerve to call me _jealous_, then she could bloody well leave! I stomped out of the room, narrowly avoiding Professor Granger, and headed down the hall to dinner. Halfway there, I realized I wasn't really hungry. Instead, I wanted to go back to my room and hit something – so I did.

OOOOOO

By one-thirty in the morning, I was still in a foul mood. I'd finished all my work for the week except for a Runes translation (it was a fragment of a love poem – not something I was keen on doing) and had started throwing quills at the ceiling like darts, trying to make them stick. After my fifth failed try with my best eagle quill, Maddison finally lost her temper.

"Lydia," she snapped, "either stop throwing those quills or get the hell out of the room before I hex you bloody. I've got a Transfiguration essay to finish, and you're distracting me."

"So?"

"So get_ out_!" she yelled, and threw a bottle of ink at me. I ducked it, then grabbed my Rune dictionary and headed to the common room, making sure to slam the door shut.

I assumed the common room would be empty, so I didn't bother to open the door quietly or walk in slowly. Usually the common room was deserted by one o'clock – students went to bed, or snuck out to shag in the Astronomy Tower or behind the lake, or retreated to the Slytherin library in a desperate search for relevant books. It wasn't until I'd yanked the stone door shut behind me and flung myself down on an armchair that I realized I wasn't alone – I could hear someone crying somewhere behind me. I turned, slowly, to see Sarah Portsmouth at one end of the seventh-year couch, sobbing.

At first I didn't know what to do. Sarah had always seemed to be perfectly happy and in control; seeing her crying was disconcerting. For a moment I stayed in my chair, unable to move, but finally I stood up and slowly walked over to her. "Sarah?" I whispered. I didn't want to sit down next to her – maybe she was one of those people who wanted to be alone while they cried, and anyway the seventh year couch was strictly for seventh years – so I stood a little awkwardly to the side.

She gulped back a sob. "Oh, hi, Lydia," she answered shakily. "You're up late."

I ignored that. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes. "It's been a really, really crappy day." Her voice still wavered, but she managed a smile.

"Oh," I replied. After a moment, I sat down on the floor at her feet. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Jess broke up with me," Sarah said. She was starting to cry again. I swallowed – I hated it when people cried, and I didn't know what to do when a couple broke up (Marissa usually rolled her eyes, called Cameron a prat, and moved on; Cameron only came to me for advice when they were together). Did you badmouth the other person? Ask what had happened? Remind her that there were other fish in the sea? "She's _met_ someone," Sarah continued bitterly. "Some mediwitch."

"How'd she meet a mediwitch?" I asked curiously, before realizing that maybe I wasn't supposed to ask that sort of question.

"She messed up in training," Sarah explained. "Took a curse to the leg, slipped, broke something. She wants to be a hit-witch," she added. "She's so daft. At least" – here she bit back a sob, and I tentatively put a hand on her arm – "she could have waited until after Halloween. I have these ridiculously expensive robes because she wanted to take me, and now I won't even be able to wear them."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "You'll find someone better."

"Maybe," Sarah agreed gloomily as she conjured a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "You'll have noticed there's a definite dearth of witches seeking witches around here. Bloody heteronormative conformists."

Heterowhat?

"Uh, no, I didn't notice." Why would I have noticed?

She smiled a little bit at that. "Well, I'm sure you will." She was silent for a moment and then lowered herself to sit down next to me on the floor. "You're pretty tense, Lydia. Bad day for you too?"

"I had a fight with Lyra," I confessed. I'd nearly forgotten it listening to Sarah, but now it all came rushing back.

"Over what?"

"She has a boyfriend now."

"You had a fight because she's got a boyfriend?" Sarah asked, sounding curious.

When Sarah put it that way, it sounded stupid, but…I'd been _angry. _I still was angry! Where did Lyra get off, thinking it was okay to act the way she had? "Well, she called me jealous!"

"Are you?"

"Ew, no," I said, making a face. "He looks like a goat. You couldn't pay me to go out with him."

Sarah laughed. "I wasn't talking about being jealous of _her_, silly."

"Then…what…" I trailed off uncertainly. If I wasn't jealous of Lyra, then did Sarah mean I was jealous of _Hornby_? Why would I be jealous of someone with bad hair and an unfortunate resemblance to a mountain goat?

Sarah stood up, stretching a little, while I was still mulling it over. "Thanks for cheering me up, Lydia," she told me. "I'm going to get to bed. You should, too; it's really late."

"You're welcome," I said, even though I didn't think I'd actually done much. "Good night."

"'Night," Sarah replied cheerfully. At the door, she half-turned back to me. "Oh, and Lydia? I meant that you could be jealous of what's-his-name, the boyfriend, for having Lyra."

"What?" I asked, but the door had already swung shut behind her.

Jealous of Matthew Hornby for dating Lyra? That would mean I'd have to want to date Lyra myself, didn't it?

"Well, that's silly," I said to the closed door.

OOOOOO

By the time I'd finally finished my Rune translation, it was nearing two o'clock in the morning, and I was almost asleep. I knocked softly on our door – not that I was expecting anyone to still be awake – and then let myself in. Maddison stood by her bed, toweling herself off. I squeaked.

"Oh, hi, Lydia," she said, looking over her shoulder. I saw her reach for an inkwell.

"Hi, Maddison," I answered, stepping uncomfortably towards the bathroom. "I'm just going to go brush my teeth and let you…put clothes on."

"You do that," she said, watching me go with a bemused smirk. I shut the door tightly behind me, turned on the tap so Maddison wouldn't think anything was wrong, and jumped up to sit on the counter. Sarah wasn't right – I _wasn't _into girls – but seeing Maddison like that made me feel…different. Funny. Sort of tingly. Kind of like what Alicia described feeling when she was around John – except that Alicia wanted to go out with John, and I definitely didn't want to go out with Maddison.

I waited a long time, until I was sure Maddison had gone to sleep, before I came out of the bathroom and crept into bed.

OOOOOO

That night, I dreamt that when I walked into our room, Sarah was standing where Maddison had stood. When I squeaked out her name, she dropped her towel to the floor. "Hi, Lydia," she said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"I—I was just—that is—I live here," I stammered. "Don't I?"

As I spoke, I realized that the room was changing – it wasn't my room anymore. It was smaller, and round, with lots of low-hanging silks above a large bath. I shifted awkwardly.

"Why don't you take a bath?" Sarah asked, stepping slowly into the tub. I swallowed heavily as I watched the steam swirling up around her body.

"Aren't you going to?"

Sarah laughed and reached out a hand to me. "You can come too," she told me, and I took her hand and stepped into the bathtub as my clothes slowly melted away. She ran a hand up my arm. "You're so tense, Lydia," she half-whispered, pulling me closer. "You should relax." She leaned in to kiss me, and I closed my eyes; her lips brushed against mine—

And I woke up, breathing heavily. It took me a few moments to smooth out the sheets and fix the quilt, and then I lay still in the darkness. I could hear my heart pounding and feel my blood pulsing through my veins. I'd just dreamt that Sarah and I had taken a _bath_ together, naked, _without clothing_. I'd just had a—a lesbian dream. It made me blush just to think about it.

But…did that mean I was actually not straight? Sarah had implied it (how the hell did she know?), and maybe even Lyra had guessed…but I couldn't be _gay._ I couldn't actually like girls like that…could I? Just because I didn't like boys didn't mean that I had to like girls…except that…I had to admit that maybe Lyra was right – I _was _jealous of Hornby – and in my dream…well, I hadn't seemed to _mind_. I'd wanted to be with Sarah. But what did that _mean_?

I slipped out of my bed and pulled on my dressing gown (green satin; I'd splurged at Twillfitt and Tattings), then padded silently back down to the common room and into the library. It was deserted, of course – it was nearly four in the morning, and not nearly close enough to exams for people to still be awake – and the lights had been dimmed. I made my way to the large oak podium where the Slytherin librarian resided, and opened the leather-bound book.

_Hello,_ I wrote carefully. The words lingered for a moment on the page before melting away.

_Good morning, Lydia_, appeared almost immediately. _How can I help you?_

Her words swirled away, and I picked up the quill again. _What does it mean to be a __lesbian_

_A lesbian is a woman who is sexually attracted to other women. From the Lesbian Sappho, a bisexual Greek lyric poet living on Lesbos in the sixth century, BC._

_Oh,_ I wrote. It sounded so…clinical. Detached.

_It's about falling in love,_ she wrote after a moment. _Lesbians are women who fall in love with other women instead of men. Would you like a list of books?_

I thought about it for a moment. I was tempted, but…what if someone saw them? Alicia would _flip_ if she thought one of her roommates was a lesbian. _No, thanks._

_If you're sure_. Her tone – even through the paper – was decidedly cooler; Lura was a librarian through and through, and felt that books ought to be the only sources a person consulted.

_I'm sure. Thanks for your help, though, Lura._

_You're welcome,_ she answered. I waited politely until her words disappeared to shut the book, then turned and headed back to my room. I was _tired_, and I didn't want to deal with the implication of her words – if a lesbian was a girl who liked other girls, and _I _was a girl who liked other girls, then…did that make me a lesbian?

I'd hoped, too, that Lura would be able to give me more than just a definition – some of the older students said she was the best person to talk to about any kind of problem. It was fine to know what a lesbian _was_, but she hadn't told me how I could know for sure, or what to do if it was true. Where did you find other lesbians? How did you know? When two girls went out somewhere, who paid? What would other people think, what would they say?

I was still turning it all over in my head when I got to my room and stumbled back into bed – which was when I noticed the large barn owl sitting on my headboard. Half asleep, I stared at her. "'Lo, owl. Why are you here?"

In answer, she reached down to nip the piece of twine that tied a letter to her talon and dropped the letter on my pillow. I reached for it, saw my name on the front, and put it by my bedside table until I was more awake. She started to take off, and I sat up, struck by a sudden idea. "Hold on a sec, hon."

She touched back down, watching me curiously as I scrambled for parchment and a quill. _How do you know if you really are? –LC _ I scrawled and folded the parchment carefully. "Here," I said, handing it to her. "Give this – it's for a girl named Sarah, Sarah Portsmouth. She's a seventh year in Slytherin with me. Can you wait for a response, please? Only don't wake her up if she's asleep."

She blinked at me as if she understood and flew off, while I snuggled back into my bed. Sarah would clear things up for me. She would know what she was talking about.

OOOOOOOOO

A/N: As always, Hogwarts and the rest of the Potterverse belong to JKR. I'm just playing.

T. M. Hatter, Ambika-san, and Ill Ame all edited this for me, so lots of thanks and hugs and cookies for them. And also many thanks to StoptheSignal, who realized I'd mistakenly written Lydia's initials as LB. Ah, _Deathly Hallows_, when will you stop screwing with my plot??

And I'm sorry this one took so long—college, apparently, actually involves _work_. Who knew? (Also, I was having some serious issues with Lydia's dream, because writing erotic dreams about a thirteen-year-old is just awkward.) Anyway, this one was fun, and the next chapter will (hopefully) be out soon, and please do review! I promise I'll write back and send cookies and happy thoughts! (Seriously, though—if I'm doing something you don't like, or something you do, or you're just confused…if no one tells me, I'll never know and my writing will deteriorate. So review!)


	34. Realizations

Chapter Thirty-Four: Realizations

At breakfast the next morning, I waited anxiously for the mail. I'd brought last night's letter with me to read (the handwriting looked like Harry's), and I opened it over my toast and bacon. I was a little worried about what he might say – he'd had seemed just a little skeptical when I'd seen him on my birthday. "Where are your parents?" he'd asked. "Are they all right?"

"Mum wasn't feeling well," I'd lied, and then changed the subject. By the end of dessert, he'd seemed perfectly calm and cheerful; I'd just assumed he'd forgotten that my family never seemed to be around. Now, though, my worries came flooding back – what if Harry had actually asked my parents? What if he'd gotten suspicious enough to talk to them, or poke around on Diagon Alley? I wasn't naïve: Harry Potter was the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world. People would tell him anything. If, for instance, he managed to run into Danielle or Alley and mention that he was worried about his goddaughter – she'd stayed at the Leaky Cauldron over the summer, with her parents. Perhaps they remembered her? A black-haired girl, dark eyes, about thirteen? Name of Lydia? – then either girl would immediately give me up without a second thought. "Oh, Lydia?" Danielle might answer. "She works here in the summer. I didn't know she was related to you…"

I tore open Harry's letter. Logically, I knew that he _couldn't _have found out about me, but…what if he had?

_Dear Lydia, _

_How is your third year going so far? Excited for Halloween, and the feast? (That was always one of my favorite parts of the year.) How are your new classes going – Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, right? I never took either, but Hermione took them both (she took everything. Bit mad, if you ask me)._

_Speaking of classes, what do you think of Hermione as a teacher—is she any good? What about your ethics class? I just heard about it, and I'm not sure it'll quite work out the way they want. But maybe I'm wrong – what's your take?_

I scanned the rest of the letter. No mention of my family or my house. Harry's suspicions must have faded, and Professor Granger must not have said anything to rekindle them.

"Hey," Cameron said, poking me. I half-jumped in my seat, and he snickered. "Way to be out of it, Lydia—you didn't even notice the owl pecking at your chair. Isn't she your godfather's?"

I looked behind me and grinned apologetically at the owl. She must have gotten Sarah's response. "Yup, that's her." I reached up to take the parchment from her and tore it open.

Cameron, looking over my shoulder, said with a frown, "_That's_ from your godfather? His handwriting looks like a girl's."

"Er, no," I replied absently. "Someone borrowed his owl, that's all." Sarah had written only one line: _You'll just know. _I realized, as I reread the note, that I'd hoped for something more decisive. If she'd said, _There's a secret handshake _or _You'll test positive _or _You'll turn blue sometimes, _then I could be sure I _wasn't _– I didn't turn blue, and I didn't know a handshake or anything. I guess I just wanted some way to prove to myself that I _wasn't _gay, because…because it seemed like I was. I didn't like boys, but I seemed to like girls.

_You'll just know,_Sarah had written. I looked up and caught her eye – and she winked. I looked back down at the note, and then up at Sarah, and frowned. I'd just _know_…

"I'll be right back," I said suddenly to Cameron.

"Don't be late for class," he called after me, as I dashed out of the Great Hall, tucking the letters into my pocket. I stopped, gasping, as soon as I reached a secluded alcove off the Hall. Behind me, I could hear the heavy oak doors swing shut. Sarah had said I'd know, and…

I was pretty sure I did know – maybe I'd known ever since Alicia had told me that Jess and Sarah were shagging. "Oh, Merlin," I muttered, slumping against the wall.

"You okay?" Sarah asked, and I jerked my head up.

"Oh, um…" I stopped. "Sarah…I—I'm a…" – I dropped my voice to a whisper – "a _lesbian_."

She put a hand on my shoulder. "It sucks when you first figure it out," she said earnestly. "But it gets better, I promise."

I nodded, slowly. "Er, Sarah?"

"Yeah?"

"How'd you know about me?"

She hesitated, then sat down on the floor and gestured for me to join her. I sat, gingerly. "Lydia…I just knew. It happens like that sometimes."

"But _how_?" I asked. I was halfway between intrigued and completely petrified: if Sarah could guess, could other people?

She laughed. "Lydia, you were always staring at Jess and me. And besides…you never seem interested in any of the boys, even though Cameron and John both seemed interested in you."

"How did you know I wasn't interested?" Had Sarah been watching me?

"You were too busy watching that Gryffindor chick – Wood. I thought it was kind of cute, myself."

I flushed. I did _not_stare at Lyra! Or if I did, it was only because we were friends! But Sarah just chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Buck up, Lydia. Life'll get better."

"Are there…more of us?" I asked slowly.

"Sure," she answered. "Couple girls out among the Huffelumps, and a Gryffindork or two, and some Ravenclaws. There's only one other Slyth girl out though, other than me – Rachel Fletwock. She's a year ahead of you."

"Yeah," I replied. "I know Rachel." I hadn't known she was gay, though. Rachel was…feminine. _Really_ feminine. "But she's so girly."

Sarah frowned. "You know, Lydia, you can be lesbian _and _feminine, if that's how you are."

"I know that," I grumbled, even though I hadn't, really. I'd thought you had to be kind of—I didn't know, jock-like or…something.

"Sure you did," she told me, standing up and offering me a hand. "Just remember it, okay? You can be whatever you want. Don't let other people label you."

"Okay," I promised, letting her pull me to my feet. "I won't."

OOOOOO

I didn't tell anyone else about being a lesbian; Alicia would freak out, and I didn't want to tell any of the boys, and Lyra…I was always two seconds away from telling her, but I never knew how to start the conversation. I wasn't entirely sure how she'd react – her parents were both gay, I knew, but she was also Christian, and Sarah said that Christians were anti-gay. But keeping it secret was making me feel like I was going to explode. Finally, two weeks into November, a solution presented itself.

"It has recently come to my attention," Professor Trent announced impressively, "that the lot of you seem to be suffering from the idea that ignorance is a good excuse for ridicule, which I happen to think is an idea deserving of ridicule. So I've pulled some strings and talked to some people." She snapped her fingers, and pieces of parchment flew through the air. As one landed on my desk, I realized that they were envelopes: mine said "Lydia Carmichael" in messy black ink.

"These," Professor Trent continued, "are letters from students at a school called Spencer Academy in the United States of America. Each of you will begin a penfriend correspondence with the student who wrote your letter. I expect that you will write long letters and that you will be faithful correspondents. Your grades will reflect your effort – believe me, I will know. You may leave class early today if you finish your response." She paused for effect; then smiled. "Well, go ahead and open them!"

I carefully opened my envelope and took out the letter. It looked long.

_Dear Lydia –_

_Hey! It's your pen pal, aren't you glad? I'm not sure what to write about, actually, but my teacher's just put a list up and first I'm supposed to tell you "a little about yourself, your family, your friends." So here goes:_

_I'm fourteen, with red hair and glasses. And freckles. My eyes are blue-green. I'm very loud. I have opinions on absolutely everything. My favorite food is dark chocolate. Also pepperoni pizza with onions and peppers. I can't stand lettuce or broccoli. _

_My family's really small – just me, my parents, and my little sister. She's really annoying. Want to adopt her?_

_I'd tell you about my friends, but there are a lot of them, plus all my enemies, so I'll tell you about them later._

_Right. Next, we're supposed to tell you "a little about life in an American Wizarding School!" (I'm not kidding about the exclamation point, either.) I don't know what you want to know…normally we go to a Muggle school or we're homeschooled until, like, 12-13 – that's seventh grade – or else 14-15, which is ninth grade. That's when wizarding school starts. There are a bunch over here – I don't know what it's like in Europe, but in America there are ten or something. Let's see if I can name them…_

_1. Salem Girls' _

_2. Pembrose Boys'_

_3. Jefferson _

_4. Hecate _

_5. Spencer _

_6. And…I forget the rest. They aren't as good as mine, anyway – I go to Spencer, which is way up north in New Hampshire where it's all deserted. The Muggles think we're a correctional facility for dangerous young criminals or something, so they stay away. That gives us the space we need for our incredibly awesome Quodpot team – we go to Nationals almost every year. I'm going to be on the team next year, maybe. Hopefully._

_Now I'm supposed to tell you about America in general, but you're probably bored with all this so I'll screw the list. I woke up very, very late this morning – like at ten-thirty – and had to hurry ridiculously to get to my class, where Mr. Cohen was all "Why are you late, Meghan?" (Which only teachers __ever__ call me, I'm usually just Meg) and I was like "I didn't mean to sleep late!" and he glared at me and told me to give him a perfect Cheering Charm, which wasn't fair because we've only just learned them, but I did it anyway and he got all happy and I didn't get a late. If you get four lates it's the same as one missed class, and four missed classes means you have to be in your dorm early for a whole week and there's a trip to the Franklin Commons in Massachusetts just outside of Boston (although I realize you don't have any idea where that is), which I really really really want to go on – it's a __big__ deal, we fly in over a huge faux cloud cover and everything. And if he'd marked me late, that would have been three missed classes and four lates and I would have had to stay here and it would have been horrible. _

_So what are you like? What do you do for fun? What's your school like? I have to go now – class is just about over and I have to meet my cousin because we're going to look up flower meanings so she can find something for her girlfriend for their anniversary, which is tomorrow._

_Write back soon!_

_Meg O'Hare_

I read over the letter a few more times. Meg sounded nice, if a little bit scatterbrained and boisterous, and maybe she was someone I could talk to. I'd never have to meet her, so it wouldn't matter if she had problems with me or I told her things I couldn't tell anyone else. And when she had talked about "her girlfriend"—did that mean her cousin was gay, too?

I fumbled around in my bag for a clean sheet of parchment and a quill, then sat motionless for a while as I tried to think of what to write.

_Dear Meg, _I finally started, _I don't know what to write about either. I'm thirteen, with black hair that sometimes curls and dark eyes. My hair is long, and it usually gets in my face when I try to write essays. The only foods I don't like are tomatoes and coffee-__flavoured__ ice cream. _

_You've a bigger family than mine – it's just my parents and me, except that my parents disowned me when I was Sorted into Slytherin and haven't talked to me since. So I guess really it's just me. (Slytherin is one of the four Houses at Hogwarts – the others are Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw. The Huffelumps are uselessly diligent brown-nosers, the Gryffindorks arrogant gits, and the Ravenclowns impractical. Slytherin's the best, although we've more than our share of Death Eater's children…we're not evil, though. We just have screwy families.) Mostly I have my friends – my best friends are a girl named Lyra, and two boys (Evan and Cameron). And I'm really close to Cameron's girlfriend (actually she might be his ex-girlfriend currently, I'm not sure) Marissa. And I have a godfather. His name is Harry._

_Hogwarts starts for us the September we're eleven (so one of the girls in my year is almost a full year older than me—her birthday is September 2, 2000, and I'm August 31, 2001), and there are seven years of classes. Hogwarts is the only wizarding school in Britain, I think, but there are more on the continent. We play Quidditch (and by "we" I mean "other crazy students" because I don't really like flying), although it's just inter-house matches. What's Quodpot?_

_Flower meanings? That's romantic. _I paused, chewing on the end of my quill, wondering whether I really wanted to confess what I was about to write.

_Is your school nice about girls dating each other? I just figured out I'm gay, and Sarah – this girl in my House, she's a seventh year – doesn't really seem to think I should tell anyone. And there aren't any girls together anymore (Sarah was dating this other girl, Jess, but they broke up and anyway only our House knew), so…I don't know. But my roommates won't like it, so I'm just going to keep it quiet for now. You won't tell anyone?_

_Lydia Carmichael_

OOOOOO

True to what I'd written to Meg O'Hare, I stayed resolutely in the closet. But – as the weeks passed and October turned into November and November moved towards December – staying silent started to get much more difficult. I wasn't used to keeping secrets from my closest friends, and anyway, being a lesbian meant there was a lot I wanted to talk about. Sarah was always around and never refused to answer questions, and Meg always read my letters and wrote back, but it wasn't the same as talking to Lyra or Evan or Cameron.

Besides which, coming out to myself had brought on a lot of what Sarah called "gay angst" – it was just one more thing that made me different and unnatural to the rest of the world, and it _bothered_ me. I didn't want to be different. Being different was hard, and for the first time I was different alone. The only gay people I knew were Sarah, Jess, and Rachel Fletwock, but I wasn't close to Rachel at all and Jess had graduated. Sarah said there was one lesbian per every ten women, but apparently that didn't hold true for Hogwarts, especially for my year. I was lonely, and I felt lost and isolated, and I couldn't help withdrawing from my friends.

People noticed, of course. Professor Snape asked me, during a few of our study sessions, if there was anything I needed his help with. Cameron and Marissa sandwiched me in the corridor and refused to leave me alone for an hour while they tried to cheer me up. Evan dragged me off on a long, cold walk around the lake where he promised that he wasn't going to pry, but reminded me that talking helped, so did chocolate, and that life was horrible sometimes but usually got better.

Lyra, who'd been worried, then angry that I was keeping secrets, finally decided that I was angry with her for dating Hornby. The closest I could get to explaining the truth was, "It's not about that, there's just…stuff. Going on." She didn't believe me – _I _wasn't sure I believed me; I'd taken to fantasizing about hexing Hornby when I practiced curses with Zach – and our friendship was starting to feel decidedly cooler.

One Friday, at the end of class (we'd argued about whether registering and controlling werewolves counted as good because it protected normal people or bad because it infringed on the werewolves' rights to freedom and happiness), Professor Trent stopped me as I was walking out the door.

"Miss Carmichael," she said quietly, "what are you doing on Sunday?"

"Er, nothing," I replied. "Why? Did I do something?"

"I was hoping you'd join me for tea," she told me. "Around four?"

"Uh, sure," I stammered. I'd never been invited to tea with a teacher before – even Professor Snape kept my visits strictly work-related. "That sounds fun."

"Good," she said. "I'll see you then. Any kind of biscuits or cake you especially like?"

I told her that I liked lemon squares, and she laughed and told me to get to my next class, and that if I'd come on Sunday, she'd have as many lemon squares as I could eat.

OOOOOOOOOO

**A/N: **So…as always, I don't own; JKR does. T. M. Hatter, Ambika-san, and Ill Ame all went over this for me, so they deserve my everlasting thanks because this chapter was _rough_.

Oh! Who else was excited that JKR actually gave us a canon gay character? I'm so happy with her that I'm not even irritated about finding out that Hannah Abbott-Longbottom is going to wind up taking over the Leaky Cauldron sometime in the remote future. And then I thought, wow, the chapter sitting on my hard drive is strangely appropriate…maybe I should post it! So here you are.

Anyway, as always, if you review, I will love you forever and give you cookies. Seriously, constructive crit would make my life better, and so if there's anything you think I screwed up (or didn't), please tell me! It makes me a better writer!


	35. Draught of the Living Death

Chapter Thirty-Five: Draught of the Living Death

At four o'clock precisely, I stood before the door to Professor Trent's office. It swung open when I raised my fist to knock, and I stepped cautiously inside. Zach and Sarah both insisted you could find out everything you needed to know about a person just by their rooms, and I believed it. Professor Snape, after all, was exactly like his rooms – cool, unemotional, organized, with kind of an oddly clinical smell – and Alicia fit perfectly with her belongings; she was sparkly and soft and feminine, with just the slightest unfriendly edge.

Professor Trent's study was well-lit and cozy, with shelves lining the walls; they were filled with all manner of books, and some even had flowers growing in small pots. There was a desk against one wall – a rolltop cherry desk; it looked expensive – and a smoky-gray cat was dozing on the chair. It looked like a cheerful, classy sort of room.

A door led from her study into the rest of her apartment, and I walked through hesitantly. The next room looked like a sort of sitting room, with a two-seater couch and three armchairs. The table between them was set for tea, and Professor Trent entered the room from a far door as I crossed the threshold.

"Ah, Miss Carmichael, good afternoon," she said with a smile. "Do sit down. Lyra's supposed to be joining us, but she's usually late….How has your weekend been?"

"Er, fine," I answered, still looking around me. There were portraits on the walls – many of Lyra, or Lyra and two men (I took those to be her fathers); others were of people who looked a lot like Lyra, except about the mouth – and, in a sunny corner, there stood a large Fanged Geranium. I examined it with some interest: it was a very strong orange color, something I'd never seen before.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Professor Trent asked quietly.

"I've never seen one like it," I told her truthfully.

"The color's quite rare. They're incredibly difficult to breed – you'd have to ask Professor Sprout for details – and so they're very valuable…you've heard of the Muggle Wars of the Roses?"

"Hasn't everyone?"

She laughed a little. "Not everyone has Mr. Rookwood for a friend. Anyway, the war was started by two wizarding neighbors fighting over one of these. It's funny, isn't it? To think of an entire bloody civil war being fought over a potted plant?"

"Funny?" I couldn't think of anything funny about it. It just seemed sort of…pathetic.

"She means ironic-funny, not silly-funny," Lyra explained. I jumped; I hadn't heard her come in. "Is the tea hot? Are those lemon squares? Hey, Lydia, hi sis," she added belatedly, bouncing into an armchair as Professor Trent sat opposite us on the couch. It was odd to hear her referred to as "sis" – she was so clearly a teacher to me that it just didn't fit. It would be like hearing someone refer to Professor Snape as Gramps or Uncle Sevvie. Someone like Isabel Travers could be called sis – she helped Alicia with makeup and hair and robes, and she'd sit with us in the common room sometimes, gossiping and teasing. But I had a hard time imagining Professor Trent doing any of those things.

"Hello, Lyra," Professor Trent replied as she handed around steaming cups of tea. "Were you outside? Your hair is dripping."

"Oh, yeah, we had Quidditch practice and it's snowing out there. Bloody long, too, because Art apparently doesn't understand that he's supposed to_catch _the Quaffle, not watch it go by with a dazed expression. I can't wait until Bethany gets out of the Hospital Wing."

Personally, I hoped it took Bethany until New Year's to recover – maybe a little longer. Slytherin was set to play Gryffindor just before Christmas holidays, and a defunct keeper would up our chances considerably. "What's wrong with her?" I asked.

"Dragon Pox," Lyra said, sounding miserable. "They're saying it could take weeks for her to recover."

"I thought only little kids got that," I said, puzzled. "Isn't she a sixth year?"

"Seventh," Lyra corrected dismally.

"Whatever. Why's she got Dragon Pox?"

"Usually only children catch it," Professor Trent explained smoothly, "but in some cases they don't, and then they're susceptible to it later in life, when it's much more serious."

"She's not going to die or anything, right?" Lyra asked, sounding worried for the first time. "I mean, Pomfrey will be able to heal her?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Professor Trent reassured her. "It'll just take time." After a moment's silence, she changed the subject: "How are you liking my class? Do you think there's anything else we should be covering?"

"I like it," I told her. It was the truth – I thought Professor Trent's class was one of my most interesting.

"Are we going to spend more time on werewolves?" Lyra asked. "I thought that was really cool."

"Uh—no, I thought we'd move straight on to vampires," Professor Trent answered. "It's rather more interesting, as the vampires actually have their own government and laws, to the Ministry's chagrin."

"But no one actually knows any vampires," Lyra protested. "People know werewolves, or at least they know people who know people who—"

"Which," Professor Trent cut in smoothly, "is an excellent reason not to delve too far into it. We don't want to make anyone's aunt into a case study."

"But doesn't that make it more relevant?" I asked slowly. "I mean, there are all sorts of laws about werewolves and working with children and just getting jobs in particular, and it actually kind of affects us, a little, if we know one. Doesn't it? Shouldn't we at least be more aware?"

"Don't you think they'd prefer not to be the center of a debate in someone else's classroom?"

"They aren't going to know," Lyra protested. "And anyway everyone who'd be offended is bound to have heard it all before, haven't they?"

"And besides," I added, "just because it's never been debated, like, _formally_, that doesn't mean no one's talked about it. I mean, one of the girls in Slytherin last year was half werewolf, and it's not like people were nice about it. If the—the underlying prejudice" – the phrase was Evan's, and I hoped I was using it correctly – "is there, then it doesn't really matter if it doesn't get talked about inside a classroom or out of it."

"Half werewolf?" Lyra repeated. "Really?"

I nodded, remembering Heather but thinking more about my cousin. "Some of the purebloods didn't like her." They wouldn't have much liked Teddy, either, I thought.

"How'd they know?" she pressed. "Did she tell everyone?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, actually. She graduated last year, so I don't really know if she told everyone right away or someone found out."

"Can you tell?" Lyra asked, turning to her sister. "If someone's half werewolf, can you tell?"

"I'm not sure," Professor Trent replied, frowning. "Possibly they recognized her last name or there might have been signs. There's a registry at the Ministry, and someone could have double-checked for her father– female werewolves can't have children."

"Can people do that?" I asked, aghast and more than a little worried for Teddy. "Just go in and look at records like that?"

"Not technically," she said. "But anyone with the right friends or enough money can get to them, especially with werewolves – it's generally recognized to be a matter of safety that a community be able to check for werewolves. If someone had a parent check the records, it's entirely possible."

"That's not _fair_," Lyra protested. "If they aren't dangerous—"

"That's only if they take the Wolfsbane," I pointed out. "Without it a werewolf would be deadly, and he has to take it every day during the full moon. If he even forgot once, then the consequences could be catastrophic." _That _particular phrase was Professor Snape's; he'd talked (or perhaps lectured) a bit about why the Wolfsbane could only be a temporary solution during one of my tutoring sessions, and I had to admit I agreed. But that didn't mean I liked the idea of people being able to find out about half-werewolves just from Ministry records.

Lyra frowned and reached for a lemon square. "But why does everyone have to know? Even if he is dangerous…how does that change if we know about it? I just don't understand why it should be public knowledge."

"What if a werewolf moved in next door to you?" Professor Trent asked quietly. "And remember that not all werewolves take the Wolfsbane regularly—"

"Why not?" she interrupted, and I noticed that Lyra was frowning a little. Well, I wouldn't want a werewolf to live next door either.

"It's expensive, for one," Professor Trent explained slowly. "And some werewolves actually like transforming every month. Besides, the Wolfsbane has some side effects which are slightly less than desirable."

"But people shouldn't have stuff about them available to the public," I protested. "What about their kids?"

"And making a list of them isn't fair anyway!" Lyra cried. "What if someone who was, I don't know, really anti-werewolf got a hold of it and tried to hunt them all down? Or if they couldn't get jobs—"

"Since we agree," Professor Trent cut in with a smile, "maybe we should change the subject?"

I reached for a lemon square, grinning, although I didn't think we actually _agreed_, exactly. Lyra didn't want werewolves registered at all; I was just worried about Teddy.

Lyra crossed her eyes at Professor Trent. "Can we talk about boys, then?"

"All boys, or one in particular?"

"Matt," Lyra clarified. I reached for another lemon square, and then took a brownie as well. If Lyra was going to talk about her boyfriend, I needed chocolate. He made my stomach knot up weirdly.

"What about him?" Professor Trent asked.

"He's being stupid," Lyra said irritably. "Are all boys like that?"

"Generally, yes," Professor Trent replied, laughing. "He'll grow up—what's he done this time?"

"I don't know," Lyra said. "He hasn't _done_ anything, exactly, but he's being irritating and keeps flirting with other girls, and…I don't know. It _bothers _me."

"You should dump him," I suggested—maybe a little too cheerfully, because Lyra shot me a disgruntled look.

"Lydia!"

"What?" I asked, trying to look innocent as I handed her a lemon square. "I don't think he's—well, good enough for you—"

"People say that about you," she snapped, and I recoiled. The brownie in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash. Lyra's anger vanished almost as soon as it came. "Oh…Lydia, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," she said, looking anxious and apologetic. "It's just—"

_That I'm a Slytherin_, I finished for her. "Yeah, whatever. I'm late for chess club," I said abruptly, standing up. "Thanks for the tea, Professor."

"Lydia, wait—" Lyra said, jumping to her feet.

"Do you want to take something back with you?" Professor Trent asked me. "Lemon square? Brownie?"

"No, thank you," I said, absurdly grateful to her for acting like there was nothing wrong. I walked as quickly as I could out of her apartments; Lyra dashed after me to the door.

"Lydia!" she cried as I left. "You're not even _in _the chess club!"

She was right: I wasn't. But I couldn't handle staying in that room another minute.

OOOOOO

Two weeks before Christmas break, Professor Rufford posted a sheet in the Great Hall for those of us staying behind, and I was one of the first to sign up. Cameron, grinning, signed his name with a flourish below mine, and then reached an arm out and grabbed Evan as he walked by. "Evan! Evan, old fellow, old chap, old friend—"

"What do you want, Cameron?" he asked, but he was smiling a little. "Make it fast, though, I'm supposed to meet Letta in the greenhouse."

"Ooh, really?" he asked, sidetracked. "Are you and Miss Williamson _snogging_? Is she your _girlfriend_?"

"Shut it, Cameron," Evan said, blushing a little. His smile had turned goofy. "We're not dating."

"_Yet_," I said. "But you two are together every night, you two come to study group together and leave together—you're the only Slytherin I know who's ever gotten _near _the 'Puff common room. It's just a matter of time!"

"Yeah, maybe," Evan said. "If, you know, she ever forgets that my parents killed her parents. And even if _she_ forgets, do you honestly think Aunt Sally and Uncle Will are going to let her?"

I exchanged looks with Cameron. If Evan knew the names of the people Loretta lived with, then things were worse than they looked. "What'd you want, Cam, anyway?" Evan asked.

"Oh—er, Christmas break? Stay? Please?"

"Um," Evan said. "I think Robin's going off to the states—"

"So you can stay!"

"Well, I was thinking about asking if she'd take me, actually," Evan answered awkwardly.

"Oh," I said. I was disappointed; Cameron and I got along better with Evan around, especially when Marissa joined us. Otherwise, I tended to feel like a third wheel, and they were starting to ask if maybe I didn't want a boyfriend, too. I could never figure out how to answer that—there wasn't a good way of saying, "I'm not into boys," without outing myself.

"Look," Evan said, "I'll owl her and ask, okay? And then if I can't go with her, I'll stay and make sure you all get your work done."

"Thanks," Cameron said, rolling his eyes. "I'm touched at how much you care."

"…By," Evan corrected immediately.

"What?"

"You're touched _by_how much I care, not _at _how much I care."

"That's what I said!" Cameron protested.

"No, it's not. You said 'at'—"

"I'll see you two later," I said, backing away. "Enjoy your grammar argument." Neither noticed as I headed towards the door, which I thought was a little pathetic. Wasn't I more interesting than prepositions?

"Lydia," someone said as I walked out of the Great Hall, grabbing my elbow. I reached immediately for my wand. "No, Lydia! It's just me."

"Oh…Teddy. Hi."

"'Oh, hi'? That's all you can think of? We haven't talked in ages—you've been avoiding me, haven't you?"

"Er, no, of course not," I said quickly, but I didn't think he believed me: his hair was slowly going bright red, like it used to when someone had broken a promise. "Look, Teddy, I haven't been avoiding you! We're in different years, different Houses…we just don't see each other, that's all."

"You manage to see Lyra Wood all the time," he snapped, "and your friend Rookwood manages to see that Hufflepuff girl every night. You should bloody well be able to see your cousin."

"Teddy—"

"And what were you doing signing up to stay here over holidays?"

I gulped. Had Teddy been watching me as I signed up? "I wanted to stay with my friends, that's all. I didn't want Cameron to be lonely."

"Did you stay with your friends over the summer, too?" he asked, arms folded over his chest.

"Uh—"

"Because you weren't at your house anytime I showed up for dinner or lunch or tea or to borrow a book—"

"I was visiting friends!" I protested. "It's not a _crime_, you know."

"No, but it's a little _convenient, _isn't it? Christmas break, and you're conveniently seeing friends—summer break, you're conveniently visiting friends every time I stop by—why, it's almost like you aren't staying at home, isn't it?"

Teddy was going to make an excellent lawyer someday, I thought. "Well, it's all just coincidence. Where would I be, if not at home? Or Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but it isn't like ditching kids is new in our extended family, is it? I mean, look at Grandmother."

"Still coincidence," I said firmly. "And I've got to go, Teddy, I have a Runes translation to finish."

"Lydia—" he started, but I shook my head.

"Seriously, Teddy. Don't _worry _about it, okay? I'm staying for Christmas because I want to."

"What about staying with Harry?" he suggested. "I was going to spend New Year's with them anyway."

I thought about it. It seemed like the perfect solution—a real Christmas, a real family…until I had to explain to Harry why I wasn't at home like a normal person. Then _everything _would come out: my House, my parents…and anyway, I'd just explained to Teddy that I wanted to spend time with my friends. I shook my head. "No, thanks, Teddy. I can't leave Cameron alone."

He frowned. "Well…if you're sure…"

"I'm sure, Teddy."

"I'm keeping an eye on you, though," he warned. "So if anything happens, I want you to tell me about it before I figure it out, okay?"

"Okay, Teddy. I'll tell you if anything goes wrong."

"You promise?"

"I promise," I said, and we touched wands. I watched him head down the hall with a sinking feeling in my gut. Teddy was suspicious. Lyra was anxious. If they compared notes—or talked to Harry—

I could be in a _lot_ of trouble very soon.

OOOOOO

Two days before term officially ended, I met Professor Snape for extra potions work. He'd promised to let me try brewing the Draught of Living Death, which normally only sixth years got to do, and I was positively brimming with excitement. It would be the most difficult potion I'd ever brewed before, and I'd taken the time to read everything I could find on how to brew it—not that I thought that would make much of a difference. I was coming to find that generally, Professor Snape knew a lot more than anyone else, and I wondered why he hadn't bothered to write a book. I wished I dared to ask him, but Professor Snape just wasn't the kind of man you asked questions of.

"Ah, Miss Carmichael, come in," he said, opening the door just seconds after I knocked. "Are you staying over break?"

"Of course," I told him. "It's much more interesting than anywhere else, isn't it? And the house-elves don't care how late I sleep."

He nearly laughed at that (or at least, I thought he did—his face looked about as near to laughing as it ever did). "Excellent reasons, Miss Carmichael. Have you looked over the ingredients and instructions for the Draught of Living Death?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, taking out my copy of _Advanced Potion-Making. _"I read what I could find in the issues of _Potions Quarterly _you leant me, too, and some of the other books."

"Very thorough of you," he remarked. "Why don't you start? I'll look on." _And make suggestions,_ I finished silently for him—that was how things normally went.

I laid the ingredients out on the table: valerian roots, sopophorous beans, asphodel, infusion of wormwood, lacewing flies, unicorn hair (three strands), dried newt eyes, wild lettuce…it was an incredibly complex potion, with nearly thirty separate ingredients to be added in specific quantities at the exact right times. I started preparations quietly – sometimes I hummed to myself, but that seemed out of place in Snape's apartments –, chopping the valerian root into exact pieces, grinding up the newt eyes, and squeezing the juice from the sopophrous beans. I'd started by simply cutting them up, but a slight movement from Professor Snape told me there had to be a better way.

I thought about it for a moment. Sopophorous beans were probably in the same family as the sopophorous vines, which were a nuisance everywhere—they'd climb up over walls and porches, but for some reason they had an averse reaction to most metals, and would leak juice all over a screen door if you weren't careful.

I pulled a silver knife from a drawer and hesitantly crushed one of the beans. Juice gushed out of the bean – much more juice, in fact, than I'd been getting by cutting them. "Excellent deduction, Miss Carmichael," Professor Snape said over my shoulder as I collected six tablespoons' worth of sopophorous bean juice and added it to the simmering cauldron, with the valerian roots and dried newt eyes. The potion was starting to turn from black into a deep purple as I added the unicorn hairs and sprinkled in the lacewing flies, the final ingredients.

The book said to stir counter-clockwise, but I'd been experimenting on stirring with other potions, and I decided to add a clockwise stir in. I started with one every five—that being a safe bet, usually—but it didn't feel quite right, so I upped it to one every six and then one every seven. _That _felt right. I shifted to avoid the blue steam rising up from the cauldron – it was a little acidic, and burned a little when I inhaled it.

"I'm impressed," Professor Snape said after the potion had finally gotten so clear I could see the bottom of my cauldron. "Excellent first try."

"Thanks," I said, feeling satisfied. The potion was still steaming, but the steam wasn't blue anymore, and it had stopped burning my throat. I yawned.

"Step back, Miss Carmichael," Professor Snape said suddenly. "I think your results are a little more potent than we'd expected. I'd prefer not to have you collapse on my floor."

"Er, right, Professor," I said, jumping backwards. "Should we—do we test it on someone?"

"Are you volunteering, Miss Carmichael?"

I looked at my steaming cauldron thoughtfully. "If you've got the antidote, then sure." I paused. "Er, Professor Snape? The book said the antidote's a potion, but if you're asleep…"

"It's meant to be heated first," Professor Snape explained. "The steam will revive someone who's been given the Draught of Living Death if administered within the first three days."

I nodded. "Okay, then I'll try the potion."

Professor Snape waved his wand and conjured a goblet and a green armchair oddly reminiscent of the ones in the Slytherin common room. "I would sit down, Miss Carmichael," he added as I ladled some of the clear potion into the goblet. "You don't want to fall asleep on the floor."

"Yes, sir," I said, sitting gingerly on the chair and sniffing at the liquid. There was no odor, but I was starting to feel sleepy just breathing it in. "Well…here goes," I said, gulping down the potion. Almost immediately, I started to feel warm—comfortably warm. Instinctively I curled a little into the chair, yawning. My eyelids felt like lead; I couldn't keep them open any longer…

"Wake up, Miss Carmichael," Professor Snape was saying. I jolted awake—he was holding a steaming goblet in front of me. "Drink this, and then you should get to the kitchens and ask for something to eat. If anyone stops you, tell them you have my permission."

"Thanks, Professor," I said, taking the goblet with both hands and downing the antidote. I placed the empty glass on the table and stood slowly, carefully making my way to the door. I still felt groggy, but no worse than I normally did after waking up suddenly in the middle of the night.

"And Lydia?" I turned at the door.

"Yes, sir?"

"That was quite impressive," he said. "We'll have to talk about class work next term—I don't think it's particularly worthwhile for you to continue with the third year curriculum."

I couldn't keep the grin off my face as I walked down to the kitchens, especially once I realized that Professor Snape had actually called me Lydia instead of Miss Carmichael.

OOOOOOOO

A/N: As always, it's JKR's sandbox—I'm just playing. T. M. Hatter went over this for me, and thus deserves millions of thanks and lots of love.

And, uh, I apologize profusely for the time this one took. There was writer's block, and then the rest of my betas had school and exams (I try not to post anything without two people looking it over), and then I had exams, so this went on the back burner. But this chapter is nearly 4,000 words, so—merry early Christmas and I'm very sorry?

I'm also going to add at this point that I do want to keep everything canon. I love canon. (Other than the Snape death thing. It's not actually canon that he died, I swear.) That said, I don't get to hear all the interviews, so if you catch anything I've screwed up and want to let me know, that'd make my life. (The same goes for anything else I screw up: please, please tell me what I did wrong! Otherwise it'll never get better.)


	36. Madam Puddifoot's

Chapter Thirty-Six: Madam Puddifoot's

The first day of Christmas break, one of the school owls swooped down towards my seat, a letter tied to her leg. I untied it, gave her a piece of melon, and broke the seal.

_Miss Carmichael:_

_Due to an unavoidable commitment, I will be absent from school until the start of term. We will discuss your lesson plans when I get back. Until then, please feel free to use my lab and stores; I've left a few books for you to look at. The password is "Aconite", but that will only work for you—I'm sure I don't have to tell you not to invite anyone else in._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor S. Snape_

As I reread the letter, an unfamiliar owl dropped a thick envelope onto my bacon. I rescued it, tried to ignore the fact that that the parchment was now half-covered in syrup and grease, and tore it open.

_Dear Lydia,_

_Like the new pet? My aunt Emily got her for me. I've named her Andrea, and she's supposed to be able to make trans-Atlantic flights faster than any other owl, ever. So I hope this gets to you fast._

_Anyway, winter vacation starts soon and I can't wait. Mom says we're going to visit my aunt and uncle and cousins, and they're usually good about ignoring the whole "no magic where Muggles might see!" thing. Muggles never see, and even if they do, it's not like they can __tell__ anyone. Besides, it's restricting wizarding rights! And one of the girls in my dorm says there's even international pressure to make us pass some stupid law restricting underage magic out of school. (It's already restricted, of course, but it's not like it's __enforced__. But apparently there's this trace thing that people use in other countries, where they can tell if someone under seventeen does magic off school grounds. They don't do that in England, do they? How do you survive? It can't be __legal__, can it? What about the right to privacy?!)_

_Anyway, what do you want for Christmas? Or Solstice? Or whatever it is you're celebrating? As long as it's not too __too__ heavy I can get it to you over the ocean, I think. (If you were wondering, do you think you could get me some good English tea? I promise not to throw it in the ocean or anything.) Are you looking forward to vacation? I definitely can't wait—I'm so sick of working. Bleh._

_So I think I'm going to get going now, because it's time for dinner and I don't want to miss it—I had to miss lunch to cram for a test in herbology and I'm starving. Write back soon, please! (Andrea will probably want to chill in your owlery for a while, so she can take your letter back if you hurry a little. And could you maybe give her a treat and tell her she's a good owl?)_

_Write back!_

_Meg_

I looked up to see Andrea pecking at my bacon. "Oh, stop that," I muttered, glaring at her. "I don't even think bacon is good for you, owl. Aren't you supposed to be eating mice?"

Andrea nipped me affectionately on the wrist before flying off with the last of my bacon. I rolled my eyes. "Can you believe that?"

"Believe what?" Cameron asked, looking curiously up at me from his pancakes and spearing another sausage with his fork. "Who's the letter from?"

"My penfriend," I told him. "That was her owl you didn't notice stealing all of my bacon. Did you know that apparently there's no restriction on underage wizardry in the States?"

"Seriously?" Cameron asked. "And Evan's there now. Lucky bastard." He shook his head in envy, and then stopped. "Wait…where is everybody? Was it this empty last year?"

I shrugged. "It's the first morning of break, Cam, people are sleeping in. And anyway, everybody who can has gone home—there are what, five Slyths staying?"

"Four," Cameron corrected mournfully. "And Marissa left too."

"Really?"

"I would know, wouldn't I?" Cameron snapped.

"Er, yes, of course you would, it's just that that looks like her coming in with Pernella—" I started, nodding towards the entrance to the Great Hall. Two girls—one redheaded and one with light blond hair—were walking through the doors. "Isn't that them?"

Cameron looked, squinted, and then grinned. "Go figure. Marissa!" he called once she'd gotten close enough to hear. "I thought you were ditching me to go spend Christmas with your parents?"

"I _was_," she replied, sliding into the seat on Cameron's other side as Pernella sat down across from me. "Then Pernella wanted to stay here…and I thought it might be nice to spend some alone time with my boyfriend."

"Oooh," I cooed. "Alone time? Aw, that's so sweet. Isn't it sweet, Pernella?"

"Like candy," Pernella agreed. "You two are nauseating. Please, Lydia, tell me there are normal people staying this break?"

I looked around the sole table. Two seventh years were comparing notes and talking earnestly, and a couple of fifth-year boys were talking loudly about the Chudley Cannons. "Doesn't look promising," I told her.

"That's so depressing," she said, pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. "Why isn't anyone else in our year staying?"

"Axel is," Marissa answered, interrupting her passionate staring contest with Cameron.

"Seriously?" Pernella replied. "Why?"

I turned toward Marissa, wondering about his reasons as well. Everyone knew Axel—he was the son of a Swedish count and countess (apparently they lived in a castle), and also rumored to be involved in the raising and selling of certain illicit plants and potions. The headmistress had apparently called him into her office twice to talk with Ministry officials, but his father had paid for a top defense attorney and all Vector had been able to do was ban him from the greenhouses for a month.

"Well," Marissa started, drawing the word out. "What _I _heard was that he'd gotten into serious trouble with the Ministry—I mean really serious, they caught him trying to smuggle stuff out of the country—and his father's angry like you wouldn't believe. So Axel's elected to stay…mostly, I think, because the DCIMPP won't let him go."

"DCIMPP?" I repeated. "What's that?"

"Department for the Control of Illicit Magical Plants and Potions," Pernella explained. "I think they've got a different one for charms."

"That's insane," Cameron said. "Do you think he's still selling?"

"I would assume not," Marissa told him pointedly. "Since the _Ministry _is _suspicious_. And they'll be suspicious of anyone who looks like they're buying, too—and _you _don't have a father in the aristocracy to get you a lawyer."

"Have you bought stuff from him before?" I asked, partly because it felt awkward to talk about Cameron's lack of parents with Marissa, who wasn't an orphan, but mostly because I was curious. The idea of Cameron doing drugs wasn't surprising, exactly, but I was surprised anyway. I didn't know that people in my year—people I knew—were using illegal drugs.

"Once or twice," he said with a shrug. "But you need more money than I've got for the really good stuff, and there are charms that work just as well for what I can pay."

"What if you get caught?" I asked.

"Or killed?" Marissa asked cheerfully.

"Or arrested?" Pernella suggested.

"Then I'd be caught, killed, and arrested," Cameron agreed. "Although probably not in that order."

"Are you sure?" Pernella asked. "Can they arrest a ghost?"

"Maybe," Marissa said thoughtfully. "I mean, they might have a hard time _holding _it, but…I guess you could arrest it?"

"You're such Ravenclowns," he said, rolling his eyes. "Who _cares_ if you can arrest ghosts?"

"Oh, shut it," Pernella snapped. "If you weren't dating my best friend I'd smack you."

Cameron merely grinned. "We should go to Hogsmeade this afternoon," he suggested. I had assumed he was talking to Marissa, but Pernella answered instead.

"Excellent idea. I know I still have shopping to do."

OOOOOOO

That was how I ended up in Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, desperately making small talk with Pernella while Marissa and Cameron held hands and fed each other pieces of cake.

"This is revolting," I said finally. "Pernella, do you want to go somewhere else?"

"Yes, definitely," she said, jumping up. "Otherwise I'm going to throw up."

I wasn't even sure, as we walked out, that Marissa and Cameron had noticed. "This is getting ridiculous," I grumbled.

"Seriously. And she thinks that _everyone _needs a boyfriend," Pernella added, crossing her arms. "I don't need a bloody boyfriend, and I wish she'd get that through her head."

I nodded fervently. "It's like the whole world's like that suddenly. Alicia won't stop raving about John, and even _Maddison_ has started talking about boys…not that she thinks anyone's good enough for her, of course, but still. And now Marissa and Cameron…it's irritating when they've broken up, but it's like it's even worse when they're together, because then they think we should all be." I hesitated a moment. "And kissing boys? The whole idea…"

"I know," Pernella said calmly. "It's gross. They're so…I don't know. Uncouth."

"_Uncouth_?" I repeated. "Merlin, you really _are _a Ravenclaw."

"I'm serious," she protested. "I mean, don't you ever think about kissing—I mean, you know, not kissing boys?"

I turned to stare at her. We'd reached the end of the alley, and Pernella shrugged as we turned. "Never mind."

"No—I mean, yes, I do, sometimes," I stuttered, wondering if she meant what I thought she meant.

"Me too," Pernella said quietly after a moment. "Maybe…we could try it?" The question took me by surprise; I wasn't sure I liked Pernella—well, I liked her, I just didn't know if I _like _liked her—and I was vaguely sure some sort of declaration of interest was supposed to come before snogging, but maybe it was different with lesbians.

I looked around. The alleyway was deserted, and there were no windows where anyone could see us. Pernella was watching me anxiously, but she didn't look scared. My own heart was pounding about a hundred times faster than normal as I nodded. Pernella leaned slowly in towards me, and suddenly our lips were touching.

It felt a little awkward – I wasn't really sure what to do with my nose – and it didn't last very long, but when she finally pulled away, I realized that I'd liked it. _This _must be what Marissa had been talking about! "Did you like it?" I asked her softly. Pernella nodded.

After that we didn't talk for a while.

OOOOOOOO

"We can't tell anyone," Pernella said suddenly, just before we walked back into Madam Puddifoot's. "Not _anyone_."

"Why not?" I asked. I'd been holding her hand, but I pulled mine out of her grasp and stopped walking. "Why can't we tell people? Everyone else gets to."

"Everyone else is straight," Pernella pointed out, avoiding my gaze. She took her glasses off and started to polish them on her robes. "They're not going to get the same kind of—of pressure we will. And…Lydia, my cousin's here, and I know your parents have already—that they can't do anything to you, but mine still can, and I don't want them to find out; they'll disown me."

"Oh," I said. It took me a moment to digest the fact that there were other parents out there who would disown their children for the stupidest reasons. I didn't want that to happen to Pernella. "Well…okay, then. We can keep it a secret, if that's what you want."

"Thanks, Lydia," Pernella said, flashing me a grin and putting her glasses back on. "It'll work better this way, I promise."

I had my doubts about that, but then I started to think about what Alicia would say if I told her I was gay, or what people might say in class if they knew Pernella and I were together. What would Teddy say? Would he owl Harry? What about Zach—he didn't seem to mind lesbians, exactly, but then he thought they (we?) were hot. I didn't want to be part of one of his fantasies. It wasn't that I thought hiding was the right thing to do, but maybe it would be easier…and Pernella seemed to think it would be safer.

It scared me to think that there were things about me that would put me in danger.

Pernella had said not to tell anyone, but I didn't think that anyone extended to Meg. My penfriend was half a world away, and she'd been the only person I'd been able to talk to about everything—my parents, my sexuality, Sarah….There was no reason not to write to her now, and I needed to tell _someone _what was going on.

_Dear Meg, _I started. I was sitting curled up in a chair in the Slytherin common room, with a jumper on over my pajamas and a robe on over that. It was mind-boggling that Hogwarts couldn't manage to make the dungeons any warmer; the roaring fire barely managed to keep me from shivering.

_How are you doing? Are you enjoying your vacation so far? I've sent you some tea—I wasn't sure what kinds you like, so I just sent an assortment. I like the peppermint best, myself._

_I'm writing mostly because I'm confused. I kissed a girl in my year today, and I really liked it. The first one was kind of awkward, I guess, and confusing, because no one ever tells you where to put your nose or what to do with her glasses or anything. But then she took her glasses off and I figured out how to tilt my head so our noses didn't bang and it was much nicer. I know I said earlier that I thought my friends were being idiots for being so obsessed with kissing and snogging and dating, but now I guess I understand why. It doesn't seem so silly now._

_I'm confused, though, Meg. She (I hope it's okay if I don't say her name, but I feel like I shouldn't without her permission) doesn't want me to say anything to anyone, but I don't like the idea of being so secretive. If I'm dating a girl, then I want to be able to at least __tell_ _people! When my friends date, they walk together to classes and kiss in the hallways and sit together in class and call each other by stupid nicknames, and I'm not saying that's what I __want__, exactly, but it would be nice to have the __option__. And she—my girlfriend (that feels really weird to write)—thinks that if we tell anyone then people are going to start, I don't know, coming after us with pitchforks or something, like a Muggle witch-hunt. I don't know why anyone would do that (isn't it just our business?), but regardless I don't want it to happen, so I guess it's all right that we keep things quiet. It just feels wrong…and I want to brag! I want to tell people!_

_Besides, what do I do now that I've got a girlfriend? Am I supposed to walk her places? Do I pay for her? Are we supposed to go on dates? How can we do that if we can't tell anyone we're dating? (I'm sorry for asking you all these questions. It isn't that I think you'll know the answers, but I can't ask anyone here because that would mean breaking my promise, and you're my only other option.)_

_Anyway, I hope you're having fun at home with your parents and your sister, and I hope that you like the tea. Your owl, by the way, is a git. She stole all of my bacon __and__ bit me. I don't think that's right at all._

_Please write back!_

_Lydia_

_PS—The Trace is used here in Britain, like in normal countries. It's irritating, but I don't think it's a violation of civil rights or anything…it's just that they can tell if you've done magic, and that's important to keep us out secret from the Muggles. If they can't tell, how do your Ministry people make sure you aren't doing magic all over the place?_

_PPS—And I don't care what you get me for Christmas, I like anything. Especially if it contains chocolate._

OOOOOOO

A/N: So, as usual, I don't own Harry Potter or Hogwarts or anything that JKR does. Pernella's use of "uncouth" is taken straight from "Dancing Backwards," Marion Dane Bauer's contribution to the anthology she edited, _Am I Blue? _It's also Pernella's subtle way of trying to sound out whether Lydia is gay or not (too subtle, as Lydia doesn't know what's going on), and it's a fantastic book of YA queer short stories, so if you haven't read it then you ought to do so immediately.

T. Mad Hatter edited this for me, which makes her fantastic and wonderful.

This was actually a wicked difficult chapter for me, which is one of the reasons it took so long; but I hope (very much) that it worked out, because I had a lot of fun writing it too (and sent a lot of emails to friends going, "What was your first kiss like?! Quick, divulge all!"). As usual, anything you notice that's off or that you didn't like, please tell me—constructive crit is how I get better.

And, uh, re: my attempts at canon-compliancy, the new Weasley family tree (where Percy is married with two girls) isn't going to come into this fic at all. Lyra is very much Percy's daughter, very much a Weasley, and also very much an only child and a Wood (and also I'm lazy).


	37. Felix Felicis

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Felix Felicis

Since Cameron and Marissa were the only friends we had staying over holidays, Pernella and I had ample time to meet secretly. The corridors were usually deserted and no one was using any of the classrooms, so we had plenty of places for furtive rendezvous (including one in the Astronomy Tower, where we were interrupted by two seventh-years and had to hide behind a large statue of an enormously fat man with a large mustache). Cameron and Marissa were so preoccupied with their own romance that they didn't notice the amount of time Pernella and I were spending alone. Pernella said we were lucky—if one of us had been a boy, everyone would have assumed we were dating immediately. But since we were both girls, she said, people would just think we'd gotten tired of playing third and fourth wheel to Cameron and Marissa.

I guessed that we were lucky, because it made pretending easier, but it made me mad, as well. Who said that two girls had to be just friends, while a boy and a girl had to be dating? Where was _that _written?

I wanted to talk to Sarah about all of this—the secrecy, the lies that weren't really _lies _so much as they were keeping things quiet. I thought that, of all people, she might know what I was supposed to do. But even I knew that asking Sarah for advice would mean breaking the promise I'd made to Pernella not to talk about us—and for that matter, I wasn't exactly sure what "us" entailed. I was starting to think of Pernella as my girlfriend, but we hadn't actually talked about being girlfriends, or even about going on an actual date. We were just snogging in dark corners and making up excuses for where we'd been, and—since I'd only told Meg—it didn't seem _real_, somehow. Meg had written back promptly, but her only advice had been, "Talk to her about it," and Pernella didn't seem inclined to talk about it, or us.

Snape was still gone—he'd be gone for the rest of the holidays—but I had access to his lab, and when I needed time to think, I went there. I was trying to make the Felix Felicis potion, but it felt like an uphill struggle—Felix Felicis was incredibly difficult to brew and could be downright catastrophic to mess up, and I was too preoccupied with Pernella to give the potion the attention it deserved. Madam Pomfrey, luckily, had several quick remedies for third-degree burns, and I was able to repair most of the shattered glass in the lab (thankfully none of the full jars had broken). I thought about giving up, but the lure of a full cauldron of Felix Felicis was hard to ignore—properly brewed, the potion practically guaranteed unlimited success if you drank it. (Of course, it was banned in most organized competitions, but they didn't always test for it and it was a good thing to have around, just in case.) The Felix Felicis would be my Christmas present to myself, if I could get it right.

OOOOOOOO

By Christmas Eve morning, I was fairly certain that I'd successfully finished phase one of the Felix Felicis. The powdered unicorn horn had turned it into a light lavender (I had added a little less than the recipe called for, remembering Professor Snape's thoughts on overusing unicorn horn), and I'd set it by an open window to sit under the waning moon from moonrise to moonset. The clock had just stopped ringing the hour (eleven o'clock) when I shut the window and stirred the potion carefully, sniffing at it delicately. It gave off a decidedly minty smell.

"Okay," I told it. "I guess we're good to go—what's next, the dried clover?" I double-checked the book just to make sure I was right, and then added in two generous pinches of clover. The green swirled together with the lavender, slowly turning a light amber color. The smell was delicious.

_Let sit, stirring slowly in a clockwise direction. Add three tablespoons crushed ladybug wings little by little, pausing between additions, _the book read. I followed the instructions carefully, although I did add a counter-clockwise stir every seven turns. The potion was lightening, turning slowly from amber to gold, and tiny droplets were beginning to jump out of the cauldron to glitter in the air before falling gracefully back in. They looked like dolphins or merpeople, I thought.

The Felix Felicis was supposed to sit for twenty minutes for full potency, so when the color change was complete I stopped stirring, floated the cauldron off the fire, and sat down to wait. I couldn't help thinking of all the ways I could use the potion—maybe if I took it, Pernella would actually answer me about whether we were dating or not, or maybe if I drank some next time I talked to Teddy, he'd stop wondering why I wasn't at home more often.

Maybe Lyra would even break up with Hornby.

When the potion was finished, I bottled a little of it up into a crystal vial. The rest I decided to let sit; no one but Professor Snape would see it, and he would know what it was – besides, I wanted him to see what I'd done. Most NEWT-level students couldn't make the Felix Felicis, and I was only thirteen. I brought the vial back to my dorm and placed it on my nightstand. Even bottled up, it looked beautiful—the crystal caught the light, and the gold shimmered and glittered and looked…well, _lucky_.

OOOOOOOO

None of the Ravenclowns were at dinner that night—the Head Girl, who was a 'Claw, had managed to get permission to take anyone staying to Diagon Alley for the day—so I actually had Cameron's full attention.

"Where've you been, anyway?" he asked around a mouthful of stuffing. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but…what've you and Pernella been up to?"

_About the same things you and Marissa have been doing,_ I thought—but of course I couldn't say that. "Keeping away from you two," I told him. "You think we want a visual lesson on what happens when a boy and a girl lust after each other very much?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I just didn't realize you two were that good of friends, that's all."

"Well…she's good to talk to," I said finally, even though we didn't really _talk_. "And I've been working at brewing stuff, too—I just finished the Felix Felicis today."

"Seriously?" Cameron nearly spit out his pumpkin juice. "You managed it?"

"Uh-huh," I replied evenly, as if it were no big deal.

"That's brilliant," he cried. "I mean, do you have any idea what that stuff _does_? Can I buy some? Could you give it to me for Christmas? What are you going to use it for?"

His questions were coming at me too fast to actually answer them, so I waited until he'd calmed down enough to take another forkful of turkey. "You can't have any, Cameron," I said flatly. "I'm saving it for when I really need it."

Cameron harrumphed. "Aren't we friends, Lydia? Don't you consider me among your trusted circle of—"

"You aren't getting any, Cameron," I repeated.

"Good girl!" said the Hufflepuff next to me (sixth year, prefect). "Don't let him pressure you into doing anything you don't want to do. Your body is yours to control!"

Cameron collapsed into giggles and I let my head fall to the table, too embarrassed to even correct her. Besides, what could I say? "He isn't my type"? "I'm dating his girlfriend's best friend"?

"Let's go," I whispered to Cameron. I could feel my face slowly returning to a normal, non-red color. He nodded vigorously, and stood to offer me a hand.

"Remember!" the 'Puff said brightly as we left. "Wait until you're ready!"

I groaned under my breath. "Do they Sort for that, Cameron?"

"For what?" he asked. "Ridiculous attitudes towards what normal, healthy men and women do together, or the inability to tell when two people aren't dating?"

"The second one, I guess," I replied quietly. I was still thinking about the first part of what he'd said: _What normal, healthy men and women do together_. I didn't ever want to do that with a boy (whatever it entailed—I wasn't exactly clear on the details). Did that mean Cameron would think I wasn't normal or healthy?

"You okay?" he asked after a while.

"Yeah, why?"

"You sounded…off, or something," he told me slowly. "Did what she said bother you that much?"

"Oh…no," I said, flashing him a quick grin. "Nothing like that." Maybe the Sorting Hat had been right, two years ago, when it had bypassed Gryffindor, because I couldn't quite get up the courage to explain to Cameron why I was upset—why his comment had upset me.

"Okay," he replied, but he sounded a little doubtful. "Do you think Evan's having fun in the states?"

"Probably," I said. "I mean, his cousin seems pretty lenient about things, doesn't she? And if Meg's telling the truth, then there's no way for them to tell if he does magic, as long as he's smart about it…"

"I don't think that's fair," Cameron complained. "_We _can't do magic outside of school."

"Gryffindor was a thief," I said to the common room door. "I agree with you, Cam," I said as the door swung open. "I wish we could do magic too."

"See you at ten?" he asked. "I've got to go wrap presents—I've been putting it off for ages, I hate wrapping things."

"You know there are spells for that?"

Cameron nodded sheepishly. "I can't get the paper to stay smooth."

"Maybe you just need to practice," I suggested. "My grandmother's really good at it, but she's had loads of time to get it right."

"Or maybe it's a girl thing," he suggested.

"Cameron!" I lobbed a Leg-Locker Curse at his retreating back. "Don't be a moron."

"Sorry!" he called up the stairs. I considered going after him, but girls going down the wrong staircase was strictly forbidden, and I didn't want to wind up blasted back into the common room. Instead, I made my way through the tapestry-covered door and into the Slytherin library.

Lura's book was open when I got there, but the room seemed empty. _Hi, _I wrote.

_Lydia, good evening,_ appeared almost immediately where my words had been. _What can I find for you?_

_I'm—_I hesitated for a moment, then scratched it out. _When you said you could find me books on lesbians and stuff…_

_Would you like a list? _Her words swirled away while I looked around again, to make sure no one was watching.

_Please_, I wrote finally. _Just the stories, though. _I paused half a moment, then added, _Not ones where they die in the end._

_Just a moment,_ she wrote. Her words lingered on the page, then disappeared; after a few seconds, titles and authors began to appear. There were _hundreds _of them, it seemed like, far more than I'd ever thought were possible. Who'd written them all? There couldn't be _that _many gay girls, could they? Did other people write them? But why would a straight person write about lesbians?

The words stopped coming for a moment, as I looked over the three pages of titles. _Which would you like me to get for you? _Lura asked. _Or would you prefer to browse?_

I stared at the list of titles. How could I be expected to know what was best? _Could you pick some for me?_

_How many would you like?_

_Five? _Five would be enough to read before everyone else came back to school.

_Of course. _Books began flying off the shelves, and I had to duck to avoid being hit by a large leather-bound tome. When five books had stacked themselves neatly on the podium, Lura wrote again. _You've got them for two weeks, Miss Carmichael. _

_Thank you, _I wrote back, and I waited until my words disappeared to shut the book.

I examined the covers of the books Lura had selected as I walked back to my room. The one on top – _Am I Blue? -- _had a pink and blue cover and looked to be a dusty collection of short stories. But it was the book on the bottom that really caught my eye: a large leather-bound book with creamy pages covered in tiny cursive. The front page said it was the personal journal of a girl named Olivia Stuart, who was born in 1923 and had started Hogwarts in 1934 and the journal four years later; it also had a little gold sticker to indicate it was unedited (usually journals were edited to reshape events in the writer's favor, or to protect the guilty). I kept stealing glances at it as I changed into my pajamas and wrapped myself in my dressing-gown. I desperately wanted to start reading it—was Olivia gay, too? Had her roommates minded?—but I'd promised Cameron I'd meet him in the common room at ten for cookies. The journal would have to wait.

By the time I got down to the common room, everyone had already grabbed a mug of hot chocolate and a couple cookies. I sank into the armchair next to Cameron's and grinned at Eleanor Carrow and Alexis Newbury, who were the only other two Slytherins staying over. Alexis was a sixth-year prefect, and Eleanor was our keeper and Quidditch captain. "Where've you been?" Cameron asked. "You're late."

"By six minutes!" I protested, taking a chocolate chip cookie from the plate. "Who brought the food, anyway?"

"I did," Eleanor said. "That's part of my job, as the oldest: get cookies when Snape's not around."

"Yeah, where is he?" Alexis asked. "He's always here for Christmas."

Eleanor shrugged. "He's been gone all break."

"He had an unavoidable commitment, he said," I explained. "He won't be back until the start of term."

Alexis shot me an odd look. "Teacher's pet, much?"

I shrugged awkwardly, but Eleanor tossed a napkin at her. "Leave her alone, Alexis. It's not Lydia's fault you barely managed an A in your potions O.W.L."

"That's not the point," Alexis grumbled, but she fell silent. Eleanor wasn't a girl you wanted to cross: she ruled our winning Quidditch team, and our team ruled the House.

"Besides," she continued, "Snape doesn't pick favorites, not like Slughorn did. You remember the Slug Club, Alexis?"

Alexis grinned sheepishly. "I guess you're right. Merlin, that was fucked up…"

"You're just jealous because you weren't invited," Eleanor laughed. Cameron and I watched this exchange with puzzled expressions; who was Slughorn, and why had there been a club named for him?

"Oh, right…" Alexis said, noticing Cameron and I blinking at them. "Sorry, I forgot you two just missed him. Slugs was…how can I explain it, Eleanor?"

"He was kind of a snob," Eleanor began, swirling her cocoa thoughtfully. "But he was also _nice_ – you don't get that with Snape so much. Slugs would talk to you, he wanted to know how things were…I mean, not that Snape _doesn't_, because he does, but it's different."

"Slughorn talked to you," Alexis agreed. "He wasn't so cold. And he knew everyone—not just, like, you, but your family and what you were good at…."

"So what was the Slug Club?" I asked. "Did he head a potions club or something?"

Alexis burst out laughing, and even Eleanor couldn't stop giggling. "No…it was more like a popularity contest. If you had the right grades, or parents, or talent, he'd invite you to these parties in his apartments…I guess the idea was that then you'd remember him when you were rich and famous. I mean, Slugs knew _everyone_ important…"

"Seriously," Alexis put in, "everyone. He knew all of the Order of the Phoenix, and the owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes…_Rose Zeller_…seriously, everyone."

"Rose Zeller?" Cameron repeated. "_The _Rose Zeller? The lead singer of Twisted Coven? _That _Rose Zeller?"

"How many Rose Zellers do you know?" Alexis snapped. "Of course _the _Rose Zeller. She even got him tickets to that concert in Edinburgh, the one where that guy almost got trampled to death." We were all silent for a moment after this, basking in the glory of Twisted Coven and Rose Zeller in particular, until Eleanor finally summoned her stereo. We finished the last of the cookies and hot chocolate singing along to all of their Death on A Broomstick album, and I went to my room that night still humming the chorus of "More Than Just My House." (Which House she was singing about was the subject of much discussion: we claimed her for our own, because Slytherins were so marginalized; but the 'Puffs thought Rose Zeller was theirs. This was obviously nonsense, though, because Twisted Coven was _cool _and Hufflepuffs…were not.)

I was exhausted, but Olivia Stuart's journal was too tempting to leave for tomorrow, and I wanted to know all about her—how did she realize she was gay? Had she had a girlfriend? I took the journal to my bed and snuggled into the covers to read.

Olivia's first entry had been on September the first, right after the Sorting and feast. There was a list of the things she'd forgotten at home (socks, toothpaste, third-best quill, and back copies of _Witch Weekly_) and her schedule, which included Muggle Studies (apparently a new elective, only a term long) and Care of Magical Creatures. Olivia's handwriting was cramped and hard to read, and her spelling was atrocious; furthermore, most of her first entries dealt with the tiny details of her life—books to check out, homework assignments, to-do lists. I was beginning to wonder why Lura had recommended the book to me when I finally flipped the page to a longer entry from January.

_I haven't been very good at keeping a Diary, have I? _it began. _My New Year's resalution is to try harder and write every day, or at least every weak. The problem is that nothing interesting happens, though! Molly is supposed to go to Hogsmeed with Ed, but none of the boys have noticed me this year eether. At least she might not be able to go, because Sluggy caught her teasing one of the second-years about being a Muggle-born, and he's put her in detention all this weakend for it. Molly says the boy kept saying he was __really__ a Slytherin, like that he was __related__ to Salazar and she was just trying to teech him proper respect for being related to the Founders, since she's related to one to, but Sluggy didn't believe her. _

_Oh! Yesterday Will A. asked Jean to go on a walk around the lake with him after the Quittich game, and she said no. I don't understand her. He and his brothers are the most handsum boys in our whole school (or at least the two older ones are. Pete is still only twelve), and I would give all the gold in the world for Will to ask me for a walk. He even smells good, sort of outdoorsy and kind of expensive, and I think he's the most amazing boy in all of Hogwarts. It isn't fair that he likes Jean, who doesn't even seem to notice him at all, when I'm right hear. I'm practicully completely in love with him all ready. Maybe I should wate for him after brekfast and ask if he's got the Transfiguration notes? I didn't really understand what Dumbeldor was talking about yesterday anyway. Or would he think I was stupid then?_

_Well, I'll tell you what happens tomorrow. And I forgot to say that the Muggles are having a war! I was worried that they might get us—Jean says they have queer wands made of metal that blow people up, and also things they drop out of metal flying carriges—but Will said wizards are protected from that sort of thing. (That's why I'm in love with him. He always knows everything.) I only remembered to tell you now because there starting a ratuning thing where we can only get a little sugar and butter and meat and stuff, and even wizards have to go by it. Jean says that means fewer cakes, because I guess the increased sugar tastes differently than the original? Anyway, I promise to write to you tomorrow and tell you if it's true!_

Olivia's handwriting was so difficult to decipher that I'd gotten a headache just from the little I'd read, so I put the book aside and snuggled deeper into my quilt. It didn't seem like Olivia had many friends—she'd mentioned Molly and Jean, who I gathered were two of her roommates, and Ed and Will, but nothing in her journal so far had talked about late-night conversations or midnight raids on the kitchens. Plus, Olivia sounded almost…stupid, or at least trivial, and she was _certainly _not a lesbian—she'd just spent a whole three-quarters of a page going on about a boy! What was this journal _possibly _going to teach me about _anything_?

OOOOOOO

A/N: As usual, I don't own anything JKR does. T. M. Hatter beta'd this for me, so she should be showered with praise and chocolate—especially because it's almost her birthday!

The next chapter is in the hands of my betas, so it will (hopefully) be out soon, and of course reviews make me happy. Happy spring, everyone!


	38. Sitting

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Sitting

The next morning I slept late: it was almost noon by the time I finally dragged myself out of bed to go take a bath. I brought Olivia's journal with me, on the off chance that it might have more lesbians now that I was wider awake.

Unfortunately for me, Olivia had slid immediately back into her habit of not writing anything substantial. January and February both had lists of books to check out and homework to do, and February had several paragraphs detailing the exact color of Will A's hair, but there was nothing else; during March, she'd apparently misplaced her diary, only to find it after Easter holidays. I skimmed through April, but I finally found what I was looking for on May fifteenth:

_Yesterday Molly stopped me after charms and said she wanted to talk. Molly allways worries me when she says she wants to talk because she says it in a very __sireus__ way, like there is something __very important__ that she needs to say, like that Hogwarts is going to shut down or Will is getting marryed or something. But I just said, what is it Molly? like I wasn't even worried or anything. And then she said, you should shut your sodding mouth about Will when you talk to Jean. And I said, why, all I'm saying is that she shoud go for a walk with him or something since he asks her all the time. And then Molly glared at me and said, she doesn't want to go for a bloody walk with him, you bloody mooron. _

_I don't think that was very kind of her to say and I told her so. __All__ I said to Jean was that she should maybe go on a date with Will, because he obviusly likes her and he is what my mum calls quite a catch. But Molly said, she doesn't care if Will is the best catch or the richest boy in school or if the Averys are the purest family or anything, Jean doesn't want to date any stupid boys and I should just shut it and stop bothering everyone._

_I told her she was being unreesonible, but I didn't know what else to say other than that. I'm __not__ a mooron and it's not fair for her to call me that either. Just because she and Jean get all good marks and all the profesors think there so smart and Dumbeldor allways calls on them in class doesn't meen I'm stupid. And Molly doesn't have any right to lord it over me eether just because she thinks she's better than me. __My__ family's better than her stupid family anyway. What kind of name is Lestrange? It's what she is—STRANGE. And Will A __is__ gorgus anyway and she and Jean can be stupid if they want to and not have him, but they shouldn't call __me__ a mooron just because there being stupid and ­__childish__._

I couldn't help grinning at that, even if the references to families I knew of—the Averys, the Lestranges—was kind of chilling. I wondered if it was Jean who was the lesbian, or if Molly was too—but Olivia had mentioned something, way back in January, about her going to Hogsmeade with Ed. And had she joined the Death Eaters? I couldn't remember ever hearing about any _good _Lestranges, but then again I only knew about Bellatrix and the two whose names began with R's. I hoped Molly hadn't become a Death Eater. She seemed, from Olivia's description, like a nice person, even if she had a mean streak. And Olivia _did _complain a lot, and she _was _a moron if she kept insisting that girls should date boys.

But then, she'd sounded hurt by Molly's words. I didn't think she had friends, and the rest of the page was so smudged that I couldn't read it; it looked like she had been crying. Maybe she was just lashing out, like Lyra did sometimes. And whatever she'd said, she obviously wasn'tvery smart—but maybe that wasn't her fault. I hadn't known what lesbians were, really, until someone had told me, and the 1940s were _ages _ago. Maybe it wasn't her fault for being a stupid boy-crazy conformist and assuming everyone else was too.

I kept thinking about the three girls as I dried off and pulled on my robes. On a hunch, I went to the shelves by Maddison's bed and looked around for her Wizipedia (I'd been meaning to get the charm to install it in one of my journals for _ages_, but I kept forgetting). She had the newest edition, where people didn't even have to register their wands before editing entries. Maybe it would have something about what had happened to the girls. I flopped onto my bed, opened it, and wrote out _Molly Lestrange _with my wand. Once I tapped the blank page, the parchment flashed an hourglass as it searched.

After a moment, the hourglass disappeared and the page began to fill with writing: Molly Peasegood, born Molly Lestrange in October of 1922…met her husband Ethan Peasegood in June of '41 while on her Grand Tour…wedding following soon after. The article skirted around her involvement with the Dark Lord, mentioning only that her younger brother Ralph Lestrange was one of the first to take the Mark and that, of her children, two were confirmed Death Eaters; apparently Molly's allegiance was still unknown. Towards the bottom of the article, after a lengthy section on her career (working with Welsh Greens) and another on her children, there was a small note about her ongoing friendship with school friend Jean Grimstone. I tapped my wand on her name and waited for the hourglass to disappear.

Jean's entry was much shorter than Molly's, mentioning her work on "homosexual equality" and spending what I thought was an inordinate amount of space on the fact that she was, apparently, single. But in between all that, it did mention her work; she'd gotten a whole list of laws passed (they were simply numbered, and nothing happened when I tapped them, so I wasn't sure what they were about—whatever homosexual inequality had been the status quo in 1940, I guessed) before emigrating, first to France and then to Canada, during the early seventies. There was a whole list of books, too, at the end, for more information; I wrote them down on a spare bit of parchment and put it on my bedside table. It was, I thought, a good thing that someone had fixed things for gay witches and wizards—but why didn't Pernella realize everything was fixed? Or had Jean just not fixed things for Hogwarts students?

After I put Maddison's Wizipedia back, I thought about wading through more of Olivia's diary, but then I decided against it. Her handwriting was too cramped for me to read too much of it without getting a headache. Besides, I knew Cameron had planned on meeting Marissa for lunch, and I had a sneaking suspicion they were now snogging in the library. Maybe I would go see if I could hunt up Pernella, and then we could snog too.

OOOOOOO

After about an hour of searching, I was forced to admit that I had no idea where anyone was. The castle was eerily empty, and even the library hadn't yielded any of my friends (although it did have two of the books I remembered being mentioned in the Wizipedia entry). I was heading back to the dungeons, thinking about maybe going back to bed or playing with Alicia's Tarot cards, when I saw Professor Granger. She was walking hurriedly down the corridor, trailed by two small children. The taller of the two was a red-headed girl who could either have been ten or six (I was never sure about children's ages), and the smaller one was a boy with darker hair and his thumb in his mouth. "You said there would be big kids," the little girl accused. "I want to meet the big kids!"

I could almost see Professor Granger count to ten in her head. "Rosie," she said carefully, "most of the students have gone home. You know, like your cousin Victoire?"

Rosie appeared to consider this for a moment as the boy took his thumb out of his mouth and pointed it at me. "She's a big kid," he remarked.

Professor Granger looked up as I tried to flatten myself against the wall. "Miss Carmichael," she said, regarding me with a piercing gaze, barely slowing her pace. "What on Earth are you doing here? I thought for sure you and your cousin would both be home. Teddy's coming for New Year's."

"Uh," I said. I tried to remember everything Harry had ever said about Hermione Granger, which (in retrospect) wasn't much. Sure, stories about how she'd managed to solve deadly logic puzzles and had gone to a ball with a Bulgarian Quidditch star were interesting, but they didn't help me now—what was going to convince her of my normal home life? "My friends were staying," I offered. "Cameron, uh, doesn't want to go back to the orphanage. And I had a lot of studying I wanted to get done. Exams are coming up in a few months," I added in a flash of inspiration.

Professor Granger's face cleared and she even smiled. "Of course," she said. "Very responsible of you, Miss Carmichael. How has your holiday been, then?"

"Fantastic," I told her. Surprisingly, it was actually true—there'd been the Felix Felicis, and now there was Pernella. And snogging was _fun_.

"Hey," said Rosie, now looking at me with a look that scarily resembled Professor Granger's. "Are you a real student?"

She was sort of a cute kid, kind of, in a small-child sort of way, and there didn't seem to be much point in lying, so I nodded.

It was the wrong decision.

"_Really_?" Rosie asked. "Do you live here? Can you show me your room? Can you fit all your stuff in your trunk? Do you have _lots _and _lots _of books? Do you have a real wand? Can you do lots of spells? Can you make a swamp? What about bluebell fire? My mum can make that. Do you play Quidditch? My dad played Quidditch. He was a Keeper. My uncle did too. He was a Seeker. And my aunt. She's a Chaser. My cousin is a Gryffindor Beater _right now_. Do you know my cousin?"

She could speak about five times faster than I'd ever heard anyone speak in my life. By the time it registered that she wanted to see my room, Rosie was already off talking about Lyra. "I know Lyra," I offered.

To Rosie, this somehow made me a cousin, too, because she came over and took my hand. "Do _you _play Quidditch?" she asked.

"No," I said, risking a look at Professor Granger. I expected her to say something along the lines of, _Now, Rosie, don't you think Miss Carmichael has somewhere she needs to be? _Instead, she had slowed down considerably and was watching me with a sort of calculating glint in her eye that I didn't like at _all._

"Miss Carmichael," she said slowly, "are you doing anything this afternoon?"

"Uh, no, not really," I stammered.

"Then would you mind sitting for them a bit? Rosie likes you already, and Hugo's quite friendly. Their father was supposed to take them this afternoon, but he had an emergency at work, and the Minister's just firecalled, and I really need to be there _right now_, but I can't leave them…" She said this all very quickly. I was tempted to refuse, but then, I didn't have anywhere to be, and Rosie, at least, was friendly. I might have wondered why Professor Granger couldn't just bring them, but I was fairly sure Rosie wouldn't be a good addition to the Ministry. "I'll pay you, of course," Professor Granger added. "It should only be for a few hours. And Rosie knows how to contact me in case of an emergency."

It would have been _entirely _reasonable for me to refuse. And I almost did—but Rosie was looking up at me hopefully, and Hugo had even come to take Rosie's other hand. Besides, I wanted to stay on Professor Granger's good side, and—entirely separately from that—I wanted her to like me; she was possibly the most amazing woman _ever_. After all, she could destroy horcruxes, battle Death Eaters, and apparently make bluebell flames, whatever those were. "Er, sure," I said finally. "We can, um, tour the castle."

"And see your room?" Rosie asked, her eyes shining.

"Sure," I told her. "If that's what you and your brother want to do."

"Thank you, Miss Carmichael, this is a godsend," Professor Granger said. "It shouldn't be more than a few hours," she added, and then she took off—actually _running _down the hall.

"What's going on?" I asked the kids. "Does your mum usually run off like that?"

"Uh-uh," said Hugo gravely, taking his thumb out of his mouth. "Dad was s'posed to watch us this morning. He was going to make pancakes."

"Yeah," Rose said. "Only then he got a silver deer and said he had to go _right away_, and Mum said she'd take us to Hogwarts, only then after we Flooed the _Minister _came into the fireplace and said 'We need you straightaway, Hermione, I'm getting the whole Order in,' and then Mum said that she had to go _right away _too, so we were going to go to Professor—Professor Somebody's, only then we saw you."

"Oh," I said. "Um. I'm Lydia, by the way. And you're Rosie and Hugo, right?"

"Uh-huh," said Hugo.

"Can we see your room now?" Rosie asked. I couldn't think of anything better to do, so we headed back to the dungeons. On the way, I learned about Professor Granger and her husband; about how Mr. Weasley made very good pancakes but only on very special occasions; about how they had a cat named Crookshanks, who was very orange, and one called Socks, which Rosie had named; about how Rosie wanted to go to Hogwarts, and have a dormitory, and her very own trunk, and a wand, and maybe even a broom so she could be on her House team. Hugo didn't say a word, although he moved, after a bit, to take my other hand. He seemed to be a boy of very few words—although, with a sister like Rosie, that might be more self-preservation than anything else. I couldn't imagine that he'd be able to get more than about five words in edgewise, with her prattle.

Once we got to the door, Rosie tugged on my hand. "Does it open with a password?" she asked, eyes wide. "The Gryffindor door has a password. It used to be 'Fortuna major'. That means 'better fortune'. Fortune means luck and fate. And the Ravenclaw door has a _talking knocker_, and it asks you questions and if you answer right you can go in. Can I say the password?"

I sighed. What had I gotten myself into? "Sure, Rosie," I said, and whispered it in her ear.

Rosie stood up as tall as she could, for someone who had yet to hit the four-foot mark, and said, very gravely, "If I'm not mistaken the waters finally swallowed up fisher and boat. And with her singing the Lorelei did this." When the door swung open, she squealed.

Hugo's grip on my hand tightened a little, while Rosie dashed ahead. "Careful," I told her as she ran toward the boy's staircase. "Don't go down the white staircase; girls aren't allowed."

Rosie slowed to a stop. "That's not fair," she said. "Can anyone stay in the common room though?"

"Uh-huh," I told her. I thought for a moment about explaining the library, or the prefects' room, or the seventh-year room that I was almost sure existed, but then thought better of it. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah!" she said. I took a seat by the fire (the armchair was big enough for Hugo to sit next to me), and we watched Rosie rush around the room. She tried out each of the seats, greeted the portraits on either side of the fire, and played half a studied game of chess against herself. "My dad plays chess," she announced when she grew bored. "He once beat You-Know-Who on a _giant _chess set."

"No," Hugo said, folding his arms. "The pieces were Tran-Trans-_Transfigured _by the professor who could turn into a cat. Uncle Harry beat You-Know-Who with a mirror."

I was about ninety percent sure that wasn't how it happened, but I thought it was better just to end the conversation entirely. "Do you want see my room now, Rosie? Hugo?"

"Yeah!" Rosie cried, jumping up. "Where is it?"

"Down the black stairs," I told her. "Hugo, let me carry you, okay?" He didn't say anything—he'd put a thumb back into his mouth—but he held out one arm as I awkwardly pulled him into my arms. I was almost sure that the stairs wouldn't care about a boy that young, but I didn't want to take any chances. "He's just a kid," I told the common room. "We're not going to do anything gross, I'm just watching him for the afternoon, promise."

"Are you coming?" Rosie called from the bottom of the stairs. "Lydia, I wanna see your room!"

I hurried down the steps. "It's the last one on your right, Rosie," I said, and she skipped on ahead, holding out her hands in front of her for a moment before dashing into my room. I put Hugo down once I got to the bottom of the stairs, and we followed her inside. Rosie was already at the window, staring out (there was a calm sea outside, with a little wooden rowboat drifting with the current).

"Where's the forest?" she asked me.

"That's not the lake," I explained. "We're underground—the picture shows the ocean. That's why you can't see the shore anywhere."

"Wicked!" exclaimed Rosie, and then she turned her attention elsewhere, inspecting the beds and my trunk and pausing to examine my Flutterby bush. I sat down after a moment in Alicia's armchair and pulled Hugo into my lap. He had a book in his hands—Professor Granger's kid after all.

"Will you read me a story?" he asked, handing me the book. It was something called _Hans Christian Anderson: The Complete Tales. _I'd never heard of the author before, so I let Hugo choose the story. "This one," he said finally, pointing to one called "The Little Mermaid."

I cleared my throat and began: "**Far** out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep," I read. The story started out as an adventure-turned-love story, with an odd old witch who couldn't do human transfiguration worth anything, and then ended with the main character dying. After that, Hugo had me read a story called "The Little Match Girl," which was about a little girl who froze to death selling matches, and then we read "The Steadfast Tin Soldier," which was about a tin soldier who burned to death. I was sensing a pattern by the end of the third story, and I asked Hugo where he'd gotten the book.

"Mummy had it when she was a little girl," he told me.

"Hey, Lydia?" Rosie called. "Why is everything here green, anyway? Are you a Slytherin?"

"Mm-hm," I said, looking away from Hugo for a moment. Seriously, what kind of stories did Muggles tell their children? It was a wonder they weren't all completely disturbed by the time they started school!

"That's funny," Rosie said, and then, after a moment, "does your dad mind?"

"Of course not," I told her distractedly—Hugo was pulling on my sleeve again.

"Can we read the one about the girl who gets her feet cut off now, Lydia?"

"Let's read something else, all right? What about Beedle the Bard? We can read about the Fountain of Fair Fortune, how about that?"

Hugo sulkily allowed me to persuade him to read stories in which people were neither killed nor maimed, and both Rosie and I completely forgot about her question. It wasn't until much later, after Professor Granger had collected the two kids, that I even thought to wonder why an eight-year-old would automatically assume my father didn't want me to be in Slytherin.

OOOOOOOOO

A/N: JKR of course owns all things Potterverse, including Rosie and Hugo and all the tales of Beedle the Bard.

The Slytherin password in this chapter comes from the end of Heinrich Heine's poem "The Lorelei"—translated here by Clint Andrews—which of course is where Lura's name originally comes from.

The quote from Hans Christian Anderson's "The Little Mermaid" is in fact the beginning of the fairy tale, which is online at —they have "The Little Match Girl" and "The Red Shoes" as well, but unfortunately not "The Steadfast Tin Soldier." (Which is a pity; that was one of my favorite stories as a kid.)

This chapter was mostly a quiet interlude, to fit the atmosphere I remember best about vacations at school. Erm, I meant to post it to, er, coincide with a vacation at school. But then I got behind and one of my betas got bogged down…well, I will try to do better next time.

This chapter was beta'd by T. Mad Hatter, and all criticism is welcome!


	39. The Rookwoods

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Rookwoods

_Dear Meg,_

_Classes start today, and I'm kind of embarrassed to admit I'm happy about that. I know you go home for your holidays (what do you call it over there? Vaca? How do you pronounce that?), but I was at school the whole time. It will be much nicer to have more people here. __And__ Professor Snape said he'd deal with my lesson plans when term starts again—did I tell you about that? He doesn't think it's worthwhile for me to keep going with the third-year lessons! __And__ he called me by my first name when I finished my last potion with him, which he's never done with me before and I don't think he's ever done it with anyone else, either. (I did spend part of the holiday—the part where I wasn't snogging my girlfriend in the greenhouses, is that normal? The hiding-in-the-greenhouse bit?—brewing, because he let me into his lab and stores, which are amazing, but it was cold and creepy down there, and I didn't like to linger much.)_

_My friend Evan says he was in Washington, DC, and his cousin is a sort of ambassador person, but not to any specific country. He says she deals with the importing/exporting of illegalish things, but he doesn't know any more than that. Evan says he had a lot of fun, and that he is extremely jealous that you Americans can use magic when you're underage. I am also extremely jealous, although it only affects (effects? Evan says it's "affects" because things "affect" things that are already there and "effect" changes, or something) my summers because I spend Easter and Christmas at school. How far is Washington from your home? Sometime I think you should come to England! You could visit Hogwarts, and my friend Lyra could teach you how to play Quidditch._

_Well, Evan's finally found his book—I was writing this while he was digging around through the stacks for some random biographies that he couldn't possibly live without—so I'm going to close this so I can send it off before breakfast._

I read over the letter once more, then signed my name at the bottom. Evan was already waiting for me at the door to the library, so I hurriedly sealed it and shoved everything back into my bag. "Come on, then," I told him. "Let's go to the Owlery."

He grinned and shifted his books under his other arm. "Don't you even want to know what I checked out?"

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "What'd you get?"

"I found _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, _which everyone knows is all lies but it's sort of interesting anyway, and then I got _Decoding Dumbledore's Deceptions, _which is supposed to be the _premier _biography on him but I think the title's a bit much. And I got _Influencing Albus: Aberforth, Ariana, and Gellert. _And then I got _Dumbledore and the Order_. And Lura has another one for me."

I stared at him. "Dumbledore? The old headmaster here?"

"Yeah, he got killed by Professor Snape on the Astronomy Tower."

"I know _that_," I said irritably as we caught a passing staircase. "But…why are you reading so many books about him?"

Evan shifted on the stairs so he was facing me. "It's like this," he said finally. "Dumbledore…basically, he _was _the Order, you know? All the anti-Voldemort stuff, all the fighters, all the intrigue and spying and prophecy stuff, he set it all up. So to understand the wars, I think you have to understand him first. And I don't think that's easy to do, with just one book."

I considered this for a while. "Don't you think he was a good man?" I asked after a moment. "I mean, Harry thinks so. And I'm sure he must have been, to win the war and let himself be killed and everything."

"I don't think it's enough just to say he was a good man and be done with it," Evan told me. "There are lots of things that he did that I don't think are good, except that he did them for a greater good. I wish Professor Trent would let us talk about this stuff in class."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," I said as I opened the door to the Owlery. The windows had no glass, and the room was lit with pale early-morning light and much colder than the hallway. I shivered as I looked around at the owls, who all regarded me curiously. "I mean, Professor Snape might mind, don't you think? And I feel like it could all get really personal really fast, with all the family baggage everyone brings in. Take this one to the States, would you?" I asked the largest owl there, who hooted as if to say that she could _certainly _handle a trans-Atlantic flight, thank you.

Evan sighed. "Yeah, I know. But if we don't talk about it, all the people who know what happened will be dead before we're able to figure _out_ what happened. Hurry up, would you? I'm freezing."

"I'm nearly done," I said, clipping the letter around her leg. "Go on, then, you." Evan and I waited just long enough to make sure she made it out of the tower before we headed back down the corridor. "What if everyone just forgot about it? Then Slytherin could be a normal house and we wouldn't have to worry about everything so much."

"Everyone forgot before," Evan pointed out. "That's how he came to power. And anyway, Slytherin's been fucked up since the seventies, you know that. Like ninety percent of the Death Eaters were Slytherins, and people need to realize why that happened, or it'll happen again."

"Weren't they just sort of mad?" I asked. That made sense: you'd have to be crazy and evil to like torturing people. Maybe there were others who joined because they weren't clever enough to realize what was going on, or because they were too scared to say no. And then the next generation of Slytherins had a lot of Death Eater parents, so they had other reasons to join. But luckily Voldemort was completely dead this time, so Alicia's Death Eater parents wouldn't mean anything.

Evan shook his head. "They were _disenfranchised_, Lydia—I think that's the right word, anyway. Because after the seventies, no one trusted the Slytherins anymore. Everyone thought they were evil. So when Voldemort showed up again, they all felt like they had no choice but to join him. So if it happens again, they'll join again, you see?"

"Evan, it can't happen again. Voldemort's dead, remember?"

Evan shook his head again. "There could be another Dark Lord, Lydia."

I crossed my arms. "No, there couldn't. You'd have to be completely mad _and _horribly cruel _and _persuasive, there's no one like that here."

"You know that Voldemort was Head Boy, right? That's the thing, you wouldn't _know_, you know? Someone would just show up one day and convince everyone who felt rejected to follow him."

"Can we talk about something else?" I asked finally. Maybe Evan was right, that people needed to talk about what had _really _happened—but he was ignoring the fact that it was much more comforting not to. And anyway, Voldemort was dead and there were all sorts of reforms, now, so that it couldn't happen again.

"Of course," he agreed gallantly. "What do you want to talk about?"

I fished around for another topic. "What about the study group? I know we sort of let it lapse last term, with Marissa and Cameron being…you know, gross…but maybe we should start it up again."

"I think that's a good idea," Evan said. "My grades were much better when we were all working together. Do you want to talk to Marissa and Lyra, and I'll talk to Letta and get us a room?"

"Sounds good," I said as we neared the entrance to the Great Hall. "Ooh, breakfast. Smells good, doesn't it?"

"You've no idea. The States don't understand the whole breakfast concept very well," Evan said with a groan. "The hotel kept serving me something called a Continental Breakfast. Not even worth getting up for."

"Serves you right for being able to use magic," I told him as he opened the door. The sound of hundreds of students talking over breakfast swelled around us…and then suddenly stopped. Everyone was staring at us, and people had stopped eating. "What did you _do_?" I hissed at Evan, but really I was worried someone had found out about Pernella and me. I risked a look around the hall: _everyone_ was staring at us, and some were whispering. Hesitantly, I reached for Evan's hand and together we walked towards the Slytherin table.

Cameron moved aside so we could slide in between him and Aaron, across from Maddison and Alicia. "What's going on?" I whispered. "Everyone's staring."

Wordlessly, Maddison folded over her newspaper and pushed it across the table to Evan; I read it over his shoulder. _Convicted Death Eaters Escape Azkaban_, read the headline, and underneath there was a picture of several aurors in a prison cell, shaking their heads and turning away from the camera to examine the walls. There were two more pictures further down, one of a man and one of a woman. It took me a moment to realize they had to be Evan's parents.

"Oh, sweet Merlin," I whispered. "Evan?"

He didn't respond. After a moment, he folded up the paper and handed it back to Maddison. "So the aurors don't know how they did it," he said finally.

I met Maddison's eyes, and she swallowed. "Only Sirius Black was ever able to escape," she said after a bit. "Other than the mass break-outs, that is."

"He did it by transforming into a dog," I put in. "But, ah…" I trailed off. I didn't know if it would be more comforting to say that surely they'd be heading out of the country without him, or that the aurors would catch them and send them back, or…

"It'll be okay, man," Cameron finished awkwardly for me.

The Great Hall, which had started to return to its normal level of conversation, suddenly fell silent again. "What are _you_ doing here?" Alicia asked someone over my shoulder, and I turned around to see Loretta Williamson. She didn't answer Alicia, but she looked at me pointedly. After a moment, I realized what she wanted and moved over on the bench so she could sit next to Evan. He put an arm around her shoulders. Neither of them spoke.

I couldn't help staring. _Everyone _was staring, even the other Slytherins, who usually tried to be good about that sort of thing. But _no one _sat at the Slytherin table except for Slytherins. Especially not Hufflepuffs, and especially not second-years.

"Mr. Rookwood?" The three of us jumped at the unfamiliar voice. "Would you come with me, please?" I turned around to see who it was—Evan hadn't moved. The man who had spoken was tall, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Gawain Robards," he said, "with the Auror Office. I need to speak to your classmate—"

"I believe I asked you to wait for me," Snape hissed. I was so glad to see him I almost hugged him; I trusted Snape completely, and strange aurors not at all. "Mr. Rookwood, this is Mr. Robards, who is the head of the Auror Office. He'd like to speak with you in the Headmistress's office, when you've finished breakfast."

"Actually, I really need to speak with him immediately—"

"When you've finished your meal," Professor Snape told Evan firmly. Evan looked at his empty plate and pushed it away.

"I'm done anyway," he said, standing up. Loretta stood up with him.

"I'm sorry, I really need to speak with Evan _alone_, Miss…"

"Williamson," she finished for him. "And I'm going with him." Robards opened his mouth and then closed it again, and Loretta tilted her chin just a little. "Come on, Evan," she said, and the two of them walked together out of the Great Hall.

"Was that—the Williamsons'—_Peter's_ girl?" the head of the aurors sputtered.

He was stillshaking his head as he followed Snape out.

"Do you think they mis-Sorted her?" Aaron asked after a long silence.

"I'd say it's a definite possibility," I agreed. "Hey, Maddison, can I see your paper?" She nodded and passed it over, and then after a moment Cameron asked for the kippers and I helped myself to some sausage, and conversation slowly returned to its usual deafening level.

OOOOOOO

Evan was missing through all our morning classes, and I didn't see him at lunch—or Loretta Williamson, either. Cameron and I talked briefly about going to find him, but we finally decided that he and Loretta were probably talking it over, and we would only be in the way. Cameron and I hadn't had parents like either of theirs.

Potions was first after lunch, and Professor Snape set everyone working on simple aging solutions. "Miss Carmichael," he said quietly, "can I see you in my office? As for the rest of you, I expect a finished Memory-Enhancing Draught—and remember please that they are illegal on examinations." He didn't really have to worry, I thought—the class was all Slytherins, so we were all too worried about Evan to think about making trouble.

I followed him into his office, which was just off the classroom—with the door open, he still had a clear line of sight to the student cauldrons. He had a desk inside, and on it was my Felix Felicis. "Tell me about this," was all he said.

I swallowed. "Well, uh, I made it just before Christmas, sir. I just followed the recipe in _Twenty Difficult Potions. _But I added a counter-clockwise stir in, and I only used half as much unicorn horn, about."

"You didn't bottle it up," he remarked.

"I bottled a little of it," I told him. "But I thought…maybe it wanted to breathe, a little."

Professor Snape looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. "Perhaps it did, Miss Carmichael," he said finally. "You are aware," he continued, "that the seventh-years sit for their N.E.W.T.s at the end of this year?"

"Er, yes, Professor."

"I would like you to sit for the Potions N.E.W.T. as well," he told me.

My mouth dropped open. "But, sir, I'm only a third-year."

"You have quite clearly demonstrated that your skills are far above the average third-year's; we discussed this last term. I would like you to use the remainder of the year to complete the seventh-year curriculum and to prepare for the N.E.W.T. This will give you a chance to cement the theory you will need for more advanced work, and the practical lessons will give you more experience in applying that theory, and in forming your own recipes—"

"How do you mean, sir?" I asked.

"I mean that I would expect you to be able to make any potion on the N.E.W.T. curriculum, without notes, instructions, or an ingredients list—and, if it were a general potion, to pick the most practical type."

"Oh," I said. It sounded like a lot, but then—if I could pass my _N.E.W.T.s _this early! No one had ever done it before, I was sure. "What's on the test, sir?"

Instead of answering, Professor Snape handed me a small booklet titled _Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test: Potions._ "An outline," he explained, "to guide your studies. I would like to meet with you twice weekly to check your progress. Are your Tuesday and Thursday evenings free?"

I nodded. It wasn't really a question.

"Good. We'll meet at seven, then. You should take normal class time to revise as well," he said. "I am not asking something easy from you, Miss Carmichael, and you will not want to embarrass yourself."

"No sir," I said—if I was going to do this, I was damn well going to do it _right_. I was going to get an Outstanding on my N.E.W.T., and then maybe I could spend next year doing even more interesting potions. _Potions Quarterly _had just run a series of articles about anti-Polyjuice Potions—they were still in the testing phase, but these were potions that would prevent your hair and nails from being used for Polyjuicing. And Professor Snape was still working on the Wolfsbane, and he'd been quoted as saying a breakthrough might come in the next few years (Evan and Cameron had bought me a subscription to _The Practical Potioneer _for Christmas, and Professor Snape had been featured in a lengthy article). Or maybe I could do research on how moonlight affected potions! "I'll get an O, sir," I told him firmly.

"See that you do," Professor Snape said as he stood up. "I suggest you take the rest of the period to look over the material you'll be tested on. And I'll expect to see a timetable on Thursday."

"Yes, sir," I said, and I followed him back into the classroom. Cameron caught my eye and frowned, and I flashed him a quick grin. He relaxed, and I headed to the back of the room to see what I would be tested on in June.

There was a lot of material. There was a page of general expectations (it began, _The student shall have a clear understanding of the use for each ingredient; the proper techniques for storage, preparation, and brewing; the theory behind all potions covered; and a general knowledge of the greater moments in the history of potions-making_), and then a twelve-page outline of the basic theory I would have to know. After that was a list of potions we were expected to be able to brew without instructions, and then a list of "further reading". I noted with some satisfaction that I'd already read most of the books on the list.

I took out parchment and a quill and began to rewrite the syllabus outline, marking down whether I was confident in the topic or not, whether I had brewed the potion before or not. The N.E.W.T. was supposed to more or less follow the lessons laid out in _Advanced Potion-Making _and _Deeply Dangerous Brewing: A Student's Guide_, but there were probably other things on it.

I knew I should be worried about Evan, and I was—but I couldn't help being excited as I looked over the material and started to draw up timetables. And even though I tried very firmly to keep my mind on looking over the syllabus, I couldn't help wondering about what might happen if I managed to finish the whole N.E.W.T-level this year, and take the test, and get an O….

OOOOOO

A/N: As always, I don't own anything! JKR awesome. This chapter was beta'd by T. Mad Hatter and Ill Ame, who are both wonderful and fantastic and brilliant. All mistakes are of course mine and not theirs.

I'm trying really hard to get back on a faster update schedule, because a month between updates is ridiculous and you shouldn't have to wait that long.

As usual, comments and criticism welcome!


	40. Death Eaters in Hogsmeade

Chapter Forty: Death Eaters in Hogsmeade

"You seen Evan?" Cameron asked as the door to the common room opened. Greg Harkiss shook his head and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Sorry," he told us. "He may not even show tonight."

Cameron sighed, and I ran my fingers through my hair to try to get rid of the headache that had been building all night. Cameron and I had both finished our homework and lingered as long as we possibly could over a game of Gobstones, but we weren't fooling anyone. Our whole year had been up and down the stairs, too, in case there was any news. Where the hell was Evan? Surely the Ministry couldn't think he was actually involved in his parents' escape. Evan was _thirteen_—he couldn't break into Azkaban. And he _wouldn't_. I wondered what Loretta thought she was doing, standing by him like this, when she was a second-year and a Hufflepuff and her parents had been aurors. I wondered if it was helping.

"Hey," Alicia said softly from the doorway. "Any news?"

We shook our heads. "No one's seen him," I said with a sigh.

"Here," she said, "John sent this up. He thought you might want something to drink." She handed us each a bottle of butterbeer and touched my shoulder gently. "He'll show up, Lydia."

"Where do you think they're headed?" Cameron asked. "I mean, do they have a plan, you think?"

There was no need to ask who he meant. "They've got to be totally barking by now," Alicia said. "They've been in Azkaban a decade, nearly, right? They say it drives you insane."

"Crazy people can have plans," I said. "Maybe even worse ones, because they aren't reasonable about it."

"They've got to be reasonable enough," Cameron put in. "They've escaped, haven't they?"

I latched firmly onto that idea. "Right. Then they'll be heading for the continent, right? For Denmark or Germany. They won't be stupid enough to come to Britain, right? With everyone watching?"

"Merlin, I hope not," Alicia said with a shudder. "I still don't see how they did it."

"People have broken out before," I pointed out. "Sirius Black, right? And there were mass breakouts during the war."

"But the mass breakouts—those people had help," Cameron said after a moment. "And Black was an Animagus, wasn't he? But I don't see how they could have done it, the both of them, unless they had help."

"Couldn't they be Animaguses—Animagi—too?" I asked. "'S'not like we'd know."

"Maddison says they aren't on the Register," Alicia told us. "Though I guess they could be unregistered."

"Maybe," Cameron said as the clock struck midnight. "It'd be awfully convenient though."

"They were _Death Eaters_," I said. "You'd think they'd have planned for this, wouldn't you? I would, if I were a—" I stopped as the door creaked open and Evan walked in. Behind him was Melissa Radford, looking grave.

"Evan!" the three of us cried at once.

"Hullo," he answered dully.

"Sit," Melissa ordered him firmly, "and finish your hot chocolate. And then get to bed. You should be excused from classes tomorrow, I don't know what Snape's going on about."

"I'm all right, Melissa," Evan said quietly, but he sat down and let her hand him a tall mug. "It's better for me to go to class anyway."

She shook her head. "It oughtn't to be allowed," she repeated, and then she headed towards the girls' staircase. "I'm going to get my Charms reading, Evan. You've got half an hour to finish that drink, and then you're going to bed. You can worry about your homework tomorrow, after you've copied the notes from today's lessons."

"Yes, Melissa," Evan said, and he took a big gulp of his drink. She looked at him doubtfully, but headed down the stairs. We waited until her footsteps faded away to ask questions.

"Well?" Alicia prompted.

"What happened?" Cameron asked.

"Are you all right?" I asked anxiously.

He nodded slowly; his face still looked sort of blank. I wanted to put an arm around him, but I didn't quite dare. "It was just—the aurors wanted to talk to me about what happened, that's all."

"Evan," I protested, "you were a _toddler _when your parents were put in prison. You couldn't even _talk. _What, does he think you were involved somehow?"

"I think he's just covering all his bases," Evan hedged.

"Yeah, that's one way to put it," Cameron muttered.

"Do they know anything?" Alicia asked. She was biting at her nails.

"No—I don't think so," Evan said. "Nothing they told me, anyway. Robards said they were talking to my aunt and Robin, and that Letta and I should be vigilant, and he gave me his card if I remembered anything." He shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal to have aurors questioning him about his missing parents.

"They don't think they're coming _here_?" I asked, shocked. "They'd have to be mad!"

"Azkaban," Cameron said. "Ten years. Seriously now, Lydia."

"I don't think they think so," Evan said quietly. "But they might. I'm here, and so—so is Letta, and they…well, there's no telling what my—what they're thinking."

"You think they might come after Will—Loretta?" I asked doubtfully.

"I'll kill them if they do," he said simply. His face was set, and his eyes were hard. Alicia and I exchanged a worried glance; Evan was quiet and calm most of the time, so it was easy to forget whose child he was, or how dangerous he could be.

"They can't," Cameron said firmly. "Ten to one they never made it out of the water, and how would they get to Hogwarts? With everyone watching?"

"That's a good point," I conceded, and Evan nodded in agreement.

But Alicia and I double-warded our door and window that night, anyway.

OOOOOO

For the next week or so, walking anywhere with Evan was sort of like walking somewhere with the plague. Everyone whispered and stared, and most people avoided us. He insisted on walking Loretta to each of her classes, too, but after the first few days I wasn't sure who was walking whom, exactly. Evan carried her books for her, but she was the one who told people off for staring: no one liked seeing them together (the Slytherin prefects had approached Evan more than once to tell him so, but he was ignoring all their efforts).

There was something about Loretta, Cameron and I agreed, that was decidedly un-'Puffish. And while we still didn't like her, we couldn't help but feel a sort of grudging respect for her, for the way she was standing by Evan. Rumor even had it that she had threatened to hex a fifth-year Hufflepuff for daring to suggest their friendship was a betrayal to her parents.

Aurors were still visiting the castle occasionally, ostensibly to see if Evan had thought of anything to help in the capture of his parents. Personally, I wasn't sure if they thought Evan was going to confess to secretly breaking his parents out or if they were just so amazed at his relationship with Loretta—she insisted on staying with him when the aurors questioned him, and she would wait by the door if they refused to let her in. They talked to her as well, of course, but Evan said it was just to remind her to be careful. There was no telling what the Rookwoods were going to do; it was possible they were going to try to finish what they'd started over a decade ago. Or that they would come for their son. Or, Cameron and I told Evan over and over again, they were headed for Denmark, or already dead. The North Sea was freezing this time of year, after all, and it wasn't like they were _healthy_, after that much time in prison.

We didn't think Evan actually believed us, though. Granted, he helped arrange for a room for our study group (we met most school nights, which was an incredible help when Arithmancy problem sets were due) and he seemed to go about his normal routine as always—but he insisted on walking Letta back to the Hufflepuff common room and waiting until she was through the door before leaving, and I'd quickly grown used to seeing him standing in the corridor outside the Slytherin dorms, wand ready. "Evan," I said finally, "what are you going to do if you actually _see _them? They're trained _Death Eaters _and you're _thirteen_."

"I don't know," he admitted, lowering his wand a little and turning to me sheepishly. "Professor Granger's loaned me some books. I might be able to hold them off."

I blinked. "Professor Granger expects you to fight them?" Surely Professor Granger wasn't actually telling a third-year student to be ready to attack two full-grown ex-Death Eaters?

"No, of course not," he answered, rolling his eyes. "That would be fairly irresponsible of her, and I think unethical too. Actually she told me to run away and go for help, if they managed to get here. But she said that she'd known third-year boys who tried to go after Azkaban-escapees before, and it was better I do it with the cards stacked in my favor. Speaking of which, are you and Zach Wenlock still doing extra Defense work?"

"Technically," I said. "We haven't stopped it, but we haven't done any in ages. I've had potions and everything else, and he has whatever the sixth years have. Why?"

"Could I borrow your books?"

"Sure," I said, and then hesitated for a moment. "But Evan?"

"Yeah, Lydia?"

"You'll be _careful_, won't you? I mean, I know they shouldn't—attack you—if they know who you are, but they _might_, and I…don't want you to die," I finished lamely. "None of us do."

Evan smiled at me and gave me a sort of awkward hug. "I know," he said. "I mean, thanks—I mean, I won't," he corrected. "Will, rather. I don't want to do any actual fighting either, Lydia. But if they try to come after Letta, don't you see that I'd have to?"

"Yes," I said finally, hating to concede the point. "But I still say you should run _away_. Let the aurors handle it, the bloody castle's crawling with them."

"I hope to," he said. "Actually, I hope I don't even have to. Come on, let's get to bed before the prefects are all over us."

I laughed (Melissa Radford had become ridiculously strict about bedtimes where Evan was concerned), and we walked back into the common room. But Evan sent a stunning spell at the wall before he opened the common room door, and I sort of felt, as I drifted off into sleep, that nothing had really been resolved.

OOOOOO

"I'm nearly impressed," Professor Snape told me as he double-checked my antidote. "This would indeed render someone immune to Veritaserum, although I do not know how long it would remain effective. And this is an unusual brewing process."

"Thank you, sir," I said. I was flattered—antidotes were not my strong suit, since most of them were impractical next to a bezoar. It was nice to know that I could still actually brew one. "Do you think it'll be on the exam?"

"I think anything is fair," Professor Snape said. "How is the rest of your review going?"

"Pretty well," I answered. "I've been revising the easier stuff first, though, so it might get harder. And it's been—hard to concentrate lately," I confessed. I surprised myself by admitting to it; Professor Snape wasn't someone I thought of as comforting, exactly. And I didn't like admitting that I was rattled.

"Because of the Rookwoods."

"Yes. More than that though—Evan's scared, which is bad, but what's worse is that he's so _determined, _Professor. He says he'll kill them if they—if he has to, and I almost think he _would_. I don't like thinking that my best friend could be a killer."

Professor Snape sighed. "Miss Carmichael, everyone can be a killer—nearly everyone," he corrected. "And most of the people who can't are prevented by their lack of expertise, not because they are too good or too pure to kill."

I frowned and pulled out a lab stool so I could sit down. This wasn't exactly comforting. "I couldn't," I said finally.

"Do you really think so?" he asked. "What if you were being threatened? What if one of your friends was being threatened?"

The thought flashed through my mind for a moment: the Rookwoods, an army of Death Eaters at their backs, approaching on Evan. On Lyra. On Pernella. "That would be self-defense," I told him. "Isn't that different?"

"In the end, you still have a corpse on the floor," Professor Snape said. "On the other hand, if Mr. Rookwood did manage, somehow, to kill either or both of his parents, I do not think anyone would fault him. I very much doubt anyone would feel the same way if their situations were reversed."

"But—" I stopped. I didn't _want _to talk about this. It wasn't even something we had touched on in Professor Trent's class: when was it all right to kill someone? When was Avada Kedavra forgivable? I shook my head to clear the thoughts away, and the clock struck the hour. "Thanks for the lesson, Professor Snape," I said. "I'll study the next section for Tuesday."

"See that you do," was all he said, and I gathered my notes and headed out into the corridor for the stairs. I was late for study group, which meant I was late for seeing Pernella. The worst part of not being open about seeing her was that we weren't usually alone—people gave Marissa and Cameron space, but they thought Pernella and I wouldn't mind company. Study group was an excuse to talk to her, and sometimes to touch her if we sat close enough together.

"Lydia!" Cameron cried when I got there. "It's about time."

"I got here as soon as I could," I answered defensively. "I had a meeting thing with Professor Snape."

"Come help with Arithmancy," Pernella called. "I can't get the third problem."

"Sure," I answered, grabbing a seat next to her and fishing some parchment and a quill out of my bag. "Where are you so far?"

"It's the stupid equations," she said. "They won't balance."

I looked over at her open book and wrote the equation out on my parchment. Pernella could solve things in her head, but I needed to write them out. "Did you double-check everything against the number chart? Which one are you using, anyway?"

"The one from Chapter Twelve," she said. "But it isn't working."

"Huh," I answered. I started to rewrite the equation, using the number chart Pernella had used. As I was writing, I bumped her arm with mine; I thought she would pull away, but she just looked down and pretended she hadn't noticed. "Hey, Pernella?" I asked, in a near-whisper.

"Mm?"

"There's a Hogsmeade weekend—"

"Lydia!" she hissed, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "Lydia, no way. This isn't the holidays, there are _people _all around."

"Pernella," I whispered in irritation, "we never do anything—"

"Because we don't want people to know!"

"No, because _you _don't want people to know!"

"Have you two figured out that problem yet?" Jeff Poole asked. "'Cause I think I've got it." Pernella and I jumped, and Pernella moved her arm away—and then scooted her chair away from me so he could come sit between us. "See, I think it's originally an Aramaic name, so we have to use that chart—it's in the appendix—instead of the one from the chapter."

"Ooh," Pernella said. "Actually, I think that might work."

I flipped his book open to the relevant page and recopied everything using the right chart. "This? This is why I hate Aramaic names."

"Oh, I know," Poole said. "They make the equations so bloody complicated. Luckily we're almost done with this, right?"

"You are, maybe," I said. "I've still got five problems after this. This week has been awful."

"I bet," Poole said. "Is, um, Rookwood—doing okay?"

"Sort of," I said. I didn't want to talk about how he was practicing cursing his parents, or how I would come up to the common room at two in the morning to find him staring blankly into the fire. "He's worried about Loretta."

The three of us turned instinctively to look at her: she was sitting next to Evan, practicing warming charms. "She looks better than he does," Pernella said.

I sighed. "He's been taking it bad. Let's talk about something else—um, I've redone the problem and I think it's working."

"Awesome," Poole said with a grin. "I thought it might. Hey, Pernella, I was meaning to ask you—there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next week, and I wondered if you wanted to go with me?"

"Um," said Pernella.

I wanted to elbow her, but Poole was still between us. "We should get going actually," I said instead. "Melissa's doing rounds tonight, and she hates it if people are out late."

"Right," Pernella said faintly.

"Sure," Poole said. "Hey, everyone? We should pack up and head out, it's after ten."

No one argued, and in a few minutes we'd put the desks and chairs back where they were supposed to go. Cameron had to clean up an ink spill, so I waited with him while everyone else dispersed. We asked Evan to stay, but he was going to walk Loretta back to her dorm; Poole offered to go with Pernella and Marissa. "Come on," he was saying as they left. "It's not like you're seeing anyone else, right?"

I glared daggers at both their retreating backs.

"Hey, I'm done, you ready?" Cameron asked after a couple minutes. "Stain's as gone as it's going to be; I shouldn't have used that permanent ink thing—Lydia, are you okay?"

"Er, yeah," I said, shaking my head and turning back to him. Pernella had probably just been surprised, that was all. She was probably walking with him right now, explaining that she couldn't go with him to Hogsmeade.

I hoped.

I really, really hoped.

OOOOOO

"_Where is he_?!" Melissa hadn't raised her voice, but she made up for it with incredible intensity.

"Who?" I asked. Cameron shut the common room door behind us and looked around at the room—it was completely packed with Slytherin students.

"Evan Rookwood. He's the only other Slytherin missing, Lydia. Where is he?"

"Walking Loretta Williamson back to the 'Puff dorms," I told her. "Why?"

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be making _rounds_?" Cameron cut in. "What's going on?"

Melissa sighed heavily and ran a hand through her hair. "It's the Rookwoods—the parents, I mean. They've been spotted in Hogsmeade. Apparently they jumped into the lake. The aurors think they're headed here."

"_Here_?" I repeated. "Like, to Hogwarts?"

"Or worse," Melissa said. "You know they say there's a passage under the lake, into the dungeons."

"Oh sweet Merlin," I whispered.

"Can't we block it?" Cameron asked.

"We don't know where it _is_," Sarah said, coming over and putting an arm around my shoulders. "But the aurors have been here looking for Evan. People were really worried—are still really worried. You say he's on his way to the Huffelump dorms? With Williamson?"

We nodded.

"Okay, so Melissa is going to go get them." This was Peter Marchbanks, the other seventh-year prefect. "And I'm going to go firecall the headmistress and tell her. Sarah, can you keep the common room calm? And they may want to relocate everyone to someplace more, er, defensible. Can you handle that?"

"Sure," Sarah said. I wondered a little why he hadn't asked one of the other prefects to keep control, but then again the seventh years were close. They relied on each other more than the prefect support system (and besides, Melissa didn't really like Alexis, her next-in-line).

"Sweet," Peter said. Melissa nodded at them both, whispered something to Sarah, and then disappeared through the common room door; Peter walked into the prefects' room and shut the door.

"Okay, people!" Sarah called. "Listen up. The Rookwoods have been spotted. They may in fact be coming here. That means that you all need to stay here. I know you have assignments to finish and important things you need from your rooms; too bad. The fourth years and up can help you summon them—think of it as practice—but no one is to leave this room until you're told." She paused a minute. "I'm going to do a roll call. If everyone would be quiet until I'm finished, that would be helpful. Peter Halloway?"

"Here," he whispered. The roll call continued until everyone had been accounted for, and then Sarah let the older students start summoning things. I scooted over on the floor to make room for her, and she put an arm around me. I knew I had a girlfriend, and I sort of felt bad about it, but I leaned against her anyway. Her body was warm, and smelled good.

"They'll find them, right?" I asked.

"Sure," Sarah said. "They've got the best aurors on this, Lydia."

OOOOOOO

A/N: So, um, I suck at this faster-updating thing. But! The Olympics are surprisingly conducive to faster writing. Thousands of athletes can come together to be freaking amazing! I can write a couple thousand words (and the Opening Ceremony? Oh, my goodness, how amazing). I can't wait for the actual games, seriously.

Anyway, this was edited by T. Mad Hatter and Ill Ame, who are fantastic and amazing and very good at nagging me (and, er, catching really embarrassing mistakes. Thanks, guys!). I still don't own the Potterverse, because it's JKR's—I just play in her sandbox.

The reviews I've gotten are amazing, and they really do keep me writing faster—and constructive criticism is absolutely wonderful.


	41. A Midnight Vigil

A/N: So, uh, I know I've been really bad about updating, but midterms are over for me and my betas, and I've ironed out some really thorny plot problems (i.e., Harry), so hopefully this will be smooth(er) sailing from now on. The reason there are notes at the top this time is because Tdolphing nicely suggested that I put a "Previously, on _Slytherin in Red and Gold_" sort of segment at the top, so I am going to try that, with my apologies for taking this long and thus requiring it:

_Last chapter: Evan's parents—having escaped Azkaban and shocked the country—continued to elude aurors, while Loretta and Evan continued to amaze the school by staying friends. Lydia practiced antidotes with Professor Snape and was horrified when he reminded her that almost anyone—herself and classmates included—could become a killer, if pressed; later, Jeff Poole flirted outrageously with Pernella, who angered Lydia by not refusing to flirt back. Finally, the Rookwoods were spotted in Hogsmeade, jumping into the lake, and Hogwarts went into lockdown mode._

Chapter Forty-One: A Midnight Vigil

Two hours later, the door creaked open and Professor Snape strode in with a man I had never seen before. "Is this everyone, Miss Portsmouth?"

"Yes, Professor," she answered.

"Good. All of you, up. You are being moved to the Great Hall—_not_ because I think you're in any danger here, but because it is better to be safe than sorry. This is Mr. Finnegan," he added. "For some reason, he seems to think that I am incapable of protecting you on my own, in dungeons I have lived in for most of my life. Age has not granted you wisdom, Mr. Finnegan."

Mr. Finnegan looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Now," Professor Snape said. "Wands out and ready."

We followed Professor Snape and Mr. Finnegan out the door. Sarah waited until everyone was out before leaving, and I waited to walk with her. Luckily she was left-handed, so we could hold hands comfortably as we walked.

Usually the walk to the Great Hall was fairly quick; I never thought about it much. But this was through the dark, hushed corridors; our footsteps and breathing were the only sounds, and the only light was from our wands and the faint beams of moonlight coming in through the few high windows. Even the portraits were eerily silent, but they were all awake and looked like they were keeping a vigil. I tightened my grip on Sarah's hand and looked over my shoulder. I _knew _the Rookwoods couldn't be here. You couldn't get into Hogwarts unless you were a student or a teacher or an auror or…or someone who had a reason to be there. And Hogwarts was _magic_. And it was crawling with aurors. And we had Professor Snape on our side. But I was still jumpy, and Sarah had to keep squeezing my hand.

Mr. Finnegan opened the doors to the Great Hall, and Professor Snape ushered us in. "Every Slytherin but Mr. Rookwood and Miss Radford, Headmistress," he said. "Any news?"

"None," she said. "Miss Radford and Mr. Rookwood should be down in a moment; they're with Gawain."

"The other Houses?"

"They're all here," she said. "Miss Williamson is the only one missing from Hufflepuff. She's with Gawain as well. We've firecalled her aunt and uncle." Professor Vector looked a little frazzled, but her voice remained calm. "Do you think you could start patrolling the dungeons? We don't want to be surprised."

"Indeed not, Headmistress."

"Thank you, Severus," she said. "I'm sure Seamus would be happy to accompany you."

Neither man looked particularly happy to hear that (in fact, Mr. Finnegan looked slightly ill), but they left together anyway. Sarah tugged at my hand and I followed her to where the rest of our House was sitting in one corner. The tables had all disappeared, and in their place there were about a thousand squashy beanbag chairs. They were pretty comfortable.

"So do you think they're actually trying to get in?" I asked Sarah.

"I don't know, Lydia. Maybe. I don't think anyone really knows what they're thinking, or where they might be going. Coming here is probably the daftest thing they could do—but then, self-preservation and a decade in Azkaban don't really go together."

"Maybe it wasn't actually them," I suggested desperately. "Maybe it was someone else who looked like them."

"Maybe," Sarah said. "I'm sure it's happened before."

"Why do you think Loretta is sticking by him?" I'd been looking for a motive in her actions for a year now, and I still hadn't come up with anything.

"Williamson?" Sarah asked. "I'm not sure, Lydia. I suppose she might actually like him, you know."

"But his parents killed her parents!"

"But he's not his parents," Sarah pointed out reasonably. "Does she seem like she has an ulterior motive? I mean, maybe she can just move past it—and Evan's been looking out for her since she started school. Did you ever think that maybe they're in the same boat?"

"How?" Evan's parents were murderers; Loretta's parents were murder victims. His parents had been Death Eaters, and hers had been aurors. His were alive. Hers weren't. That didn't sound like the same boat to me.

"Well, they're both effectively orphaned," Sarah said thoughtfully. "And they both live with their relatives, don't they? That's got to be difficult. And he's looked out for her since she started here. Maybe she's lonely."

"It still seems kind of fishy to me," I told her. "I still think that maybe she's up to something."

"Like revenge, you mean?" At my nod, Sarah shook her head. "I don't think so, Lydia. She seems pretty straightforward to me."

"Hmph," I answered, and Sarah laughed. After that, one of the Hufflepuff prefects pulled out a guitar and started strumming a few chords. I didn't really want to sing along, but he was playing old Celestina Warbeck songs, and you couldn't listen to "A Cauldron Full of Strong, Hot Love" without singing along.

The headmistress came back before Evan and Loretta returned. By that point, we were all curled around the Hufflepuffs. Someone had passed around platters of toast and mugs of tea, and we were all munching contentedly. Chatter had mostly hushed, and even the guitar had slowed to a soft, sort of absent-minded strumming.

"Lights out in ten minutes," she told us all softly, and then waved her wand and conjured a couple hundred mummy bags. I grabbed the nearest one and crawled inside. I wasn't surprised to see Cameron and Marissa crawling over to us, dragging sleeping bags, but I was very surprised when Pernella followed them and laid out her bag next to mine.

"Hi," she said quietly.

"Hi," I answered, unable to keep from grinning.

"Who's up for sneaking up to see Evan?" Cameron hissed.

"Cameron!"

"Marissa," he protested, "it's our _duty_ as his _friends_ to—"

"To sneak out and get ourselves in detention?" she finished for him. "No, you moron. Go to sleep; I'll sit up for Evan and Loretta."

"Us too," Pernella said.

"You have no spirit of adventure," Cameron accused us, but he curled up in his mummy bag just the same. I lay down as Vector turned off the lights. The only people still standing were a few prefects and one or two professors; everyone else was in bed.

"'Night," I whispered.

"'Night," Cameron and Marissa muttered back to me. Pernella didn't say anything, but after a moment she turned over on her side, put her glasses between us, and took my hand. For a minute I was too surprised to do anything, but then I squeezed it.

"Good night, Pernella," I said very softly.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered back.

OOOOOOO

I woke up once or twice during the night, to stare up at the stars in the Great Hall. Pernella had pulled free of my hand during the night (she was, I discovered, a restless sleeper), and the room was very quiet and dark. I sat up once and looked around for Evan, but it was too shadowy to see anything, and after a moment a prefect shone her wand in my face, and hissed for me to get back to sleep.

When I woke up again, it was morning. Small tables had been set up around the room in a big, open square, and I could smell breakfast. I jumped up (my sleeping bag disappeared as soon as I did) and went to find a seat. The tables were only half-full; plenty of students (the older ones especially) were still sleeping. I saw Alicia sitting down and, next to her, Evan. "Evan!" I cried, and dashed over to him.

"Hullo, Lydia," he said, smiling a little. "Letta's still sleeping. Have some toast."

I had no idea why he thought I cared about Loretta, but I sat down anyway and helped myself to some bread and jam. "When did they let you go?"

"A couple hours before sunrise," Evan said, rolling his eyes. "Protective escort and all."

"But are you all right, and all?" I asked. "Did they find them?"

"No," Evan answered. "They think it was a false alarm."

"A _false alarm_?" I repeated. "Who would do that?"

"Maybe someone just made a mistake," Alicia suggested. "Anyway, they've cancelled classes for the morning."

"Really?" I asked, taking another slice of toast and grabbing some eggs. "Why?"

"Probably the teachers are too tired," she said. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

"Right," I said. "Thank Merlin. Hey, can we leave and get dressed or anything?"

"No," Evan said. "And you can't go to the loo without a prefect. The professors are all doing something. Debriefing, maybe?"

"Yeah, or sleeping," Alicia said with a laugh.

"Or that," he agreed. "Let's talk about something else, though. How's your Potions N.E.W.T. going, Lydia?"

"It's fantastic and amazing," I told him. "And brilliant and fun. I'm playing with antidotes now."

"Only you would say 'playing' and talk about antidotes," Alicia said. "How about we talk about something that doesn't involve classes _or_ Azkaban?"

We spent the rest of the morning talking about Alicia's sister's friend's cat, who was having kittens. It was pointlessly inane, but I didn't think any of us really cared. We were still waiting to see whether or not Evan's parents had been caught.

It was past one-thirty by the time the professors returned. There were no aurors with them, and they all looked extremely tired. "Students, please," Professor Vector called, and everyone immediately hushed. "I know it's been an exciting night for everyone, and a lazy morning, but please, calm down for a moment. As I'm sure you've all guessed, the Rookwoods were not, to the best of our knowledge, here last night; they were—"

But that was when I stopped listening. Owls had been flying into the Great Hall for several minutes—the delayed mail, of course, but there were about a hundred official _Daily Prophet _owls. One of them dropped a rolled-up newspaper onto the table next to me, for Sarah; I peered over her shoulder as she opened it.

_Escaped Death Eaters Caught at Denmark Border; Aurors Still Mystified__, _read the front page headline. The article began: _Aurors are set to return Julian and Rachel Rookwood to Azkaban Fortress, where they will receive the Dementor's Kiss. The Kiss is standard punishment for attempted escape…_

I reached over to take Evan's hand. It seemed like a lot for him to have to take in from an article in the paper: his parents had never had any intention of coming for him, and now they were going to have their souls sucked out. I thought, personally, that they should have told Evan before this. He shouldn't have had to find out through a bloody _newspaper_.

Evan pulled his hand away from mine as soon as I'd found it, but I wasn't sure he even realized he was doing it. He was totally engrossed in the paper; he probably hadn't even noticed that everyone had stopped eating to look at him.

I guessed that the headmistress had already told everyone that the Rookwoods had been caught. I glared at her. She should have told Evan first, in private, where he would have time to digest everything and get his emotions under control. I tried to catch Professor Snape's eye, but he seemed to be intent on watching Evan. It didn't really matter. I knew he agreed with me.

OOOOOO

I didn't pay any attention during any of my afternoon classes. There didn't seem to be much of a point to them; I spent all my time watching Evan. He, of course, watched each professor intently, and took meticulous notes. Sometimes I just didn't understand him.

I managed, finally, to corner Evan after dinner in a deserted corridor (well, deserted except for the portraits. I ignored them with as much dignity as I could, and hoped Evan would do the same). "Evan," I started hesitantly, "can we talk?"

"Sure," he said easily. "What's wrong?"

"I…thought you might be," I told him honestly. "Er, not wrong, exactly, but…you know. Feeling bad?"

Evan turned to me, looking a little surprised. "Why would I feel bad? They got caught."

"Well, they got caught in Denmark," I pointed out. "So they weren't actually, you know, ever coming here, and I thought…you know, that that might be hard."

Evan blinked a couple of times before he answered me. "Why?" he asked finally. "I don't feel like they've abandoned me like—like other people might. And can you imagine anything worse than having them actually coming here?"

"Well, no," I admitted. But I still didn't see how he could feel good about the fact that his parents had broken out of prison and run _away _from him. Even if they were evil, murderous Death Eaters—they were still his parents, and they were still about to get their souls sucked out. But Evan didn't even seem to care. "But don't you…I mean, I know that you're glad they've been caught and everything, and you should be, but…aren't you more confused than that?"

Evan shook his head. "It's not like with you and your parents," he said, and then he had the grace to look at the floor and scuff his shoes along the stones for a moment. "I mean, they deserve it, you know? For what they did to Letta's parents, and for joining with Voldemort in the first place. I don't care that they're getting the Kiss. I'm _glad _they're getting the Kiss. They _deserve _it. All Death Eaters do."

I shivered. "Wasn't Professor Snape a Death Eater?"

Evan stopped for a moment and considered this. "He was on our side," he said finally.

"But even if he wasn't," I said slowly. "I mean, if he had been, you know, evil. Then do you think the Kiss would be a good idea?"

"Well, yeah," Evan said, and his tone implied that it should be obvious.

"Because," I started slowly, "I don't think it is. Because it sucks out your soul."

"That's the point," Evan said. "It's the absolute worst punishment for the absolute worst crimes."

"But your memory is part of your soul," I argued. "That means that you'd be punished for the rest of your life and you would never understand why. Because you wouldn't have any memory of what you'd done or what had happened to you. And what if they're wrong and they get someone who wasn't a Death Eater?"

He frowned. For a moment I thought maybe I had convinced him, but then he just shook his head. "They're Death Eaters; they deserve it," he said.

"Right," I said. I didn't think Evan was right, but I didn't know how to argue my side any better than I had. Maybe Professor Trent could bring this up in class. "Anyway, have people been giving you crap about it?"

"No more than they had been," Evan said. "It definitely helped that we all got the news at the same time."

"Yeah," I agreed, "that was awful. I thought they should have taken you aside and told you first."

"No—I was being serious, I mean," he said. "It was better that they told me in front of everyone. So that everyone could see, you know, that I hate them."

"But wouldn't it have been better to have gotten the news in private?" I asked. "That's what I would have wanted, and I found out about my parents in the Great Hall."

"Lydia, no one knew about your parents," he said. "People _still_ don't know about your parents. It's different with me. _Everyone _knows, so everyone has to see that I don't support them."

I thought about this for a minute. In some ways, his opinions made sense; of course he wouldn't want people to think he was pro-Death Eater. But I couldn't imagine having to keep such a public profile about family things, which were supposed to be private. Everyone was going to look at Evan and see the child of two soulless Death Eaters, and they were either going to think he was just like them, which would be awful, or that he didn't care that his parents were having their souls destroyed, which might be even worse. And everyone was going to know that his parents were the kind of parents who would break out of Azkaban and not even try to find their son. "Oh," I said finally, not entirely truthfully. "I guess that makes sense."

Evan shrugged. "It's not the same for me or for Letta as it is for you, Lydia," he repeated. "You're the only victim of your parents' actions, and they were just…in-family, I guess. It's not like that for Letta and me."

"I guess I get that," I answered.

I still thought they shouldn't have let him find out from a newspaper, though.

OOOOOOOO

A/N: So if you like the summary at the top, please tell me and I'll continue to write them; otherwise, tell me and I'll, uh, not write them.

This chapter was edited by the amazing and fantastic brood saint, who did it even though sick and under lots of school-related stress! So you should all love her to pieces (kind of a creepy expression, actually).

For those of you waiting on Harry and (especially) Lyra—fear not! They are coming! Lyra, especially, is coming with a vengeance in the next few chapters. (I would promise not to take so long, but as that never seems to work, I just swear I will work harder.)

As always, constructive criticism is love, and thank you all _so much _for sticking with me so far!


	42. Sexuality and Sexual Relations

Last chapter, Lydia spent a long night in the Great Hall with the rest of the students, and learned in the morning that the Rookwoods had never been near Hogwarts, but instead had fled to Denmark. Things finally seemed to be looking up between Pernella and Lydia, and Lydia and Evan argued about Evan's parents, the school's treatment of Evan's parents capture, and the Dementor's Kiss.

Chapter Forty-Two: Sexuality and Sexual Relations

The _Daily Prophet_ kept us updated on the Rookwoods, although information was pretty sparse. They had been given the Dementor's Kiss twelve hours after capture (the delay was caused by the Danish Ministry, who didn't believe the Kiss was humane and almost refused to extradite), but the investigation into how they escaped continued. The most popular theories included Animagus transformations, Dark Magic, and traitorous guards. Evan thought it would take months for the coverage to slow; I hoped he was wrong, but as February turned into March, we were still reading articles from "Azkaban security forces".

I wondered how crazy you would have to be to actually work in Azkaban. I even asked during one of our study sessions, but no one had any answers. "Maybe they pay really well," Pernella offered.

"Hey, you could owl your godfather and ask him, couldn't you?" Cameron asked. "He's an auror, he would know. And you could ask if they've found anything out about Evan's—er, about the Rookwoods. That they aren't telling us, I mean."

"Maybe," I said. It felt like it would be a little awkward to write to him with questions about an ongoing investigation—especially because I couldn't mention Evan in the letter; he might know Evan was a Slytherin.

"Oh, do!" Lyra urged me. "Everyone wants to know what they know, and my father won't tell me anything."

"Well, okay," I said finally. "If you really want me to."

"I do, definitely," she said, and everyone else nodded. Evan looked impassive until Loretta elbowed him; then he nodded emphatically and told me to go ahead and write. "And let me read it before you send it, too," Lyra added.

I moved my books to one side of the desk to write; I should have been studying, but this was more fun. Also, Lyra kept hanging over my shoulder to watch and make corrections, which was nice. I wondered if Pernella was getting jealous, but every time I turned to see, she had her head buried in her Charms textbook.

_Dear Harry, _I began:

_School's been really nice. The snow's still covering all the grounds, and they had to cancel the last Quidditch match because the Professors didn't want to get hypothermia (you notice they didn't care that the students might freeze). Other than that, I've been revising four __hours__ for my potions exam in June; there's so much material! I really like it, but it's really hard too, and Professor Snape says the exam will be the worst yet. _

_The whole school's been really edgy with the Rookwood thing. I know it's been almost two months now, but we can't really calm down until we know there won't be more Death Eaters escaping and trying to break into our school. We talk about it in the common room a lot—Lyra and I are actually talking about it right now. _

At this point, Lyra stole the quill to write _Hullo Uncle Harry! It's Lyra! I'm just writing to say hi and thanks for the AWESOME Quidditch tickets, and I was going to write a proper thank-you note and Papa kept nagging me to do it but then I forgot. And tell Auntie Gin thanks too, and also that if she wants to go to a Harpies game I would love to go with her. Daddy would probably come too, and she can invite Papa if she wants but it won't really help because Papa hates Quidditch and he and Auntie Gin always fight but don't show her that part._

I took the quill back. _Me again. Back to the Rookwoods. I mean, how could they escape? They weren't Animaguses like Sirius Black, right? So then they'd have had to get out some other way. Can you just, like, slip out of Azkaban?_

_Also, who works there? The __Daily Prophet__ keeps talking about security forces, but that can't be the Dementors because they don't talk. So who else works there? And why would anyone __want__ to? It just seems really creepy to me. Maybe it's the guards? _

_Anyway, I have to run and finish my work, but I promise I'll write a longer letter later, and maybe see you this summer!_

_Love,_

_Lydia (and Lyra!)_

"Uh, Lydia?" Lydia said after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"It sort of sounds like you're a Gryffindor. Are you still pretending you're in my House?"

"Yup," I said as I sealed the letter. Lyra frowned and crossed her arms, but she didn't say anything else. I guessed she'd finally learned that it just wasn't her place to talk about it.

OOOOOOO

Harry wrote back quickly; his owl was pecking at my breakfast the following morning. I fed it some bacon as I undid the string and unfolded the letter.

_Dear Lydia and Lyra _(he'd written),

_I'm sure Professor Granger's been terrifying you about exams, but I don't think you need to be studying quite yet—and you can tell her I said that. I don't know anyone who ever actually __failed__ a final exam (except for Marcus Flint, who was the Slytherin Quidditch captain when I was in school, but I think he'd taken a few too many Bludgers to the head, if you know what I mean). Hogwarts is too amazing to waste on so much studying, and you can tell your parents I said so._

_I'm sure the Rookwoods have made everything much more difficult for you, but you should remember that Hogwarts is really much better defended now than it ever was when I was in school, and that you wouldn't be anywhere near them in any case._

_I can't tell you much about the ongoing investigation, but I can tell you we've narrowed down our theories—it might have been Animagus transformations, or possibly a clever switch (there were two prior individual break-outs that I know of; that was how they managed it before), but we're also thinking that they may have had outside help. There are plenty of people out there who disapprove of Azkaban or Dementors or just putting Death Eaters away._

_I have heard that Azkaban guards get paid very well, and that the benefits are quite good. I suppose they'd have to be; I don't know that I could work there without some sort of constant Patronus, and they're very hard to do continuously. (Have you learned to conjure a Patronus yet? I suppose not. We'll have to work on that over the holidays sometime.) They're phasing out the Dementors, but it's taken more time than the Minister thought it would—the public is having a little trouble with the thought of Azkaban without Dementors. Don't think they realize we can't control them much better now than we could twenty years ago. Even a Corporeal Patronus won't be much good against too many of them for too long, and there's nothing we can do to stop them from leaving if they decide to. But I think that within another ten or twelve years, we'll have phased them out completely._

_Love,_

_Harry_

_PS—Lyra, keep the first Sunday of your Easter holidays free; there's a Harpies game and we've got extra tickets._

"Sheesh, he writes to you a lot," Cameron complained. "You do realize that if you got him to send you autographed photos we could make a killing."

"Cameron," I replied evenly, "Harry is not going to send me autographed photos. And even if he did, I would certainly not distribute them for people to drool over."

"I think you should rethink that," Cameron said. "Not all of us have small fortunes left to us by suspicious elderly great-uncles. Some of us need to make our own way in the world."

"So make it," I said, unconcerned. "Just not by exploiting my godfather. Besides, if he did that it might get back to him that I'm in Slytherin or something."

"You don't think he hasn't realized?"

"And you don't think that you're contributing to the general anti-Slytherin bias within Hogwarts and the greater wizarding community by refusing to identify yourself by your House to your family?" Maddison broke in.

I took a moment to parse that. "Er, Maddison, the last time I told my family I was a Slytherin, they disowned me, remember?"

"But you're financially independent now," Maddison pointed out. "And you don't rely on your godfather for any sort of material support."

"Uh, right," I said. "But I _do _rely on him to write me letters and generally talk to me."

"Slytherin is never going to rise above itself if we can't demand respect," Maddison snapped. "Even Alicia realizes that, for all the use it does us."

"Maddison!"

Maddison just sniffed. "She knows it's true. We'd do better to shut the bigots up first, and then demand respect as a House. Which we won't get if you're too ashamed to claim Slytherin as part of your identity, Lydia."

"Sheesh, Maddison," I said, "it's only Harry who I haven't told."

"Whom," she corrected, and I fought the urge to shake her. I didn't _dislike_ Maddison exactly, and I tried not to fight with her like Alicia did, but she did make me _angry_. She always felt like she knew everything, and that she knew the right thing to do in any situation. I didn't know why she thought she was so smart.

"Come on," I muttered. "Let's go, Cameron, we've got class."

"We _all_ have class," Maddison corrected, and (of course) she was right.

OOOOOO

In Potions that afternoon, I practiced making poisons. I knew that lots of people enjoyed brewing poisons, but I was always a little anxious about them. I knew it wasn't _likely _that someone would drink something in Professor Snape's rooms (and if they did, they deserved whatever happened), but it worried me to think that someone might drink one of them and die. Besides, poison recipes tended to be extremely explicit about the aftereffects, and that made my stomach twist. Ten minutes before the end of class, when I was still feverishly trying to finish a Scalding Solution, Professor Snape came in to ask me to step into the classroom for a moment.

I dumped the remains of the potion and quickly washed up before stepping out of his lab and joining Evan at his table. "What's going on?" I asked under my breath.

"No clue," Evan hissed.

"The headmistress," Professor Snape announced, in a voice that made it sound like he didn't think she deserved either to be a headmistress or to advise us on anything, "has asked me to inform you that your presence will be requested this Saturday—"

"That's a Hogsmeade weekend!" Cameron cried.

"Yes," Professor Snape agreed. "It certainly is. And instead of buying out the stock of Honeydukes, you will be attending a seminar on sexuality and sexual relations."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Wait, what?" I finally said. We couldn't be having a seminar on _sexuality_. Someone might _realize _about me.

"That was my reaction as well, Miss Carmichael," Professor Snape told me. "But rest assured, the headmistress informed me that her intentions were sound." He didn't sound like he actually believed it, though. "Nine o'clock Saturday morning, Miss Carmichael, Miss Travers, and Miss Whisp will report to the Hospital Wing, and the rest of you will join me in the Great Hall."

"Excuse me, er, sir," Cameron said. "But, uh, are _you _going to be, um, leading this seminar thing?"

Professor Snape smiled, perhaps a little cruelly. "Apparently so, Mr. Rookwood. Class dismissed."

"I can't believe this," Cameron muttered to me as we left. "We're going to have to sit there and listen to _Snape _talk to us about _sex_."

I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. The idea of _Professor Snape _telling the third-year boys about…sex and girls and…it was just all ridiculous.

"Oh, shut up," Cameron said. "I bet you'll have to deal with Vector."

"Oh, sweet Merlin," I muttered. "I'd cry."

Ancient Runes, my last class of the day, was next, and Evan and I snagged seats in the back so we could use the same dictionary. I'd borrowed it from Sarah during one of our talks, and she'd written helpful notes in all the margins. "Did you start that essay for ethics?" I asked.

"The Limitation Act thing?" he asked. "Yeah. I don't believe in it."

I wasn't surprised. We'd started talking about it a few weeks ago—how long after a crime was too long for the perpetrator to be punished? Evan, of course, had come firmly down on the side of "Never, ever, ever." But I wasn't so sure. "I think," I said to him after a moment, "that it kind of depends on…I don't know. If it's, um, an ongoing thing?" I wasn't sure how to put it into words. It seemed to me that if you'd hexed someone when you were twelve, they shouldn't be able to put you in prison for it when you were forty.

On the other hand, just because two and a half years had passed since my parents had disowned me, I didn't think that should entitle them to a free pass. Hypothetically, that was—I wasn't actually planning on trying to get them arrested or whatever.

"If a butterfly flaps its wings," Evan said gravely, and I rolled my eyes.

"But then you could just as well say that it was a _good _thing the crime happened, because…I don't know. If there are that many far-reaching consequences."

"If Miss Carmichael and Mr. Rookwood would like to join the rest of the class," Professor Callahan said loudly, and we both jumped. "Thank you. As I was saying, how would you translate that line, Miss Adams?"

"Uh—he ruled for five thousand, no, five hundred years, the great king," Caroline Adams said, slowly working it out. She probably would have had the highest marks in the class, except that she was easily embarrassed and tended to freak out when Professor Callahan called on her. "And in the five hundredth year, uh, he—sorry, what's that? Marto—what's that verb again?"

"To die, Miss Adams."

"Right, sorry. And in the five hundredth year he died."

"Very good, Miss Adams. Miss Carmichael, the next line?"

"Er," I said eloquently. "And…he had a child, skilled in witchcraft and famed in healing, and she becomes, er, became queen in his place."

"Quite right. Can anyone tell me what is so significant about the use of the feminine pronoun here?"

No one could. Professor Callahan sighed loudly before reminding us that at the time, women were not given equal rights as men in most cultures; this marked a turning point. It was all very interesting, I was sure, but I couldn't keep my mind on it. I couldn't _believe_ we were going to have to talk about sex! Even worse, someone might mention _sexuality_. There might be, like, spells to figure out if you were straight or lesbian. Someone might figure out about me! It was terrible to have to sit there and listen to Professor Callahan droning on and _on _when what I wanted to do was go work out how to pretend to be straight. It wasn't something I had thought much about, so I pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and angled my body away from Evan. _Girls Who Are, _I wrote (in case Evan caught sight of it), and then I underlined it twice. _Lyra. Maddison. Alicia. Marissa. _I thought about other girls I was friendly enough with that I could study their straight behavior. Why were all the rest of my friends boys? Alicia said all the time that lesbians wanted to be around girls all the time and hated men; this was so they could shag more. Obviously I didn't believe Alicia most of the time, but she did know more lesbians than I did (I only knew three—Jess, Sarah, and Pernella. Oh, and Rachel from the year above me).

I turned the parchment over and started a new list. _Ways They Act._ I thought about it for a moment. _Liking boys. Not liking girls. Talking about boys. Dating boys. _Well, Alicia and Maddison weren't dating anyone, and Maddison didn't usually talk about boys—nor did Lyra, actually. I mean, you could even forget she was dating Hornby, except that it was so blatantly obvious. Suddenly I was angry at myself for being so _stupid_. There wasn't any way to tell if I was a lesbian. That was just silly. I crumpled up the paper and tossed it into my book bag, and then I turned back and did my best to pay strict attention to the rest of Callahan's lecture, which had now moved on to _syntax_, of all things.

OOOOOOO

Saturday morning dawned cold and rainy. It was the sort of Saturday where I wanted to just curl up in bed, and possibly read back issues of _The Practical Potioneer _and drink hot chocolate. But no, today was the class on _sex_.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom for a bath. The house-elves only replaced the bubble bath once a week, and it seemed like Alicia always got to it before I did. Well, not this week. I squirted a generous amount of jasmine-and-vanilla bubble bath into running water and let the bath fill with bubbles. It smelled _delightful_. I let the water run while I dashed back into my room for the latest _Practical Potioneer_, which had a lengthy article on the new anti-Polyjuice potions—months after _Potions Quarterly _had done their article, of course. It was typical of _The Practical Potioneer,_ which published three times as often as _Potions Quarterly _but _always _managed to be late—but their articles were usually more detailed.

When I was finally submerged in the tub, I started reading. The start of the article was practically word-for-word what _Potions Quarterly _had had to say, but around the third page it started to get more interesting. There was a full-page spread with pictures of the two witches heading the project, stirring things and chopping and showing the right shade of the potions. After that there was a lengthy interview with them, where they talked about the biggest hurdles they'd had to overcome. (That was because a successful potion would have to do three things: prevent Polyjuice from working on hair and nails that had already grown; prevent it working on new hair and nails; and help strengthen nails and make sure hair wouldn't fall out, as a failsafe. And even one of these things couldn't have been _thought _of ten years ago.) Part of me wondered if they might give me a job, if they were still working on this in four years. I would enjoy that. (It was weird, too, to start thinking about _jobs_, like I was a seventh-year or something. But the N.E.W.T. guide I'd been using kept bringing it up—"N.E.W.T.-level potions will prepare you for work as an auror," it would say, or "in the exciting field of Healing". According to them, it would take me anywhere! But of course what I wanted to do with my life was more potions.)

I skipped breakfast in order to relax a little longer in my bath, and also because I was too nervous to eat. I _knew_ straight people couldn't tell I was a lesbian just by looking at me. Sarah had said so. But…what if someone could? What if there was some sort of spell?

On the other hand, if there was a spell, then Pernella would be outed too. And then maybe she wouldn't mind dating me in public anymore. And _that_, I decided as I got dressed and dashed down the corridors, was definitely worth it.

The Hospital Wing was already crowded with third-year girls when I arrived five minutes late. Professor Fawcett and Madam Pomfrey were sitting in the front of the room—Professor Fawcett on Pomfrey's desk, and Pomfrey in a chair—and everyone was sitting around them on the floor. I snuck in and made myself comfortable next to Lyra. She grinned at me and rolled her eyes, as if to say _I cannot believe we have to sit through this_.

"Your attention, ladies?" Fawcett called. "I know this is a little awkward for you all, but we think it's important to talk to you about sexuality, and, well, making smart choices about your bodies."

"Translation," I heard Jill Holmes whisper to Lyra, "someone got pregnant."

"Hufflepuff, probably," Lyra whispered back. "This is going to be awful."

"We want to start," Fawcett continued, "by talking a little bit about anatomy; Madam Pomfrey will be showing you some diagrams. And then we're going to talk a little bit about making smart, safe choices, and then some of the consequences of reckless behavior. And we'll finish with questions. Madam Pomfrey?"

"Thank you," Pomfrey said. She did a sort of complicated movement with her wand, and a large picture of a woman appeared on the wall. And then Madam Pomfrey was up and running, talking about fallopian tubes and ovaries and a lot of other complicated jargon I didn't recognize. We spent a good ten minutes on that picture, and then moved onto a diagram of "the female reproductive organs", which was possibly the most awkward moment of my entire Hogwarts career to date.

Well, it was, until she switched to a diagram of the male reproductive system. There was a nervous giggle from somewhere in the middle of the room, and then all the girls started laughing and elbowing each other. I wasn't sure what was so funny, but for the first time I was _glad _I was a lesbian. I concentrated on counting the ceiling tiles while Pomfrey droned on.

"Questions?" she said finally. "No? Well, then, we'll just move along to responsible decision-making, shall we? Professor Fawcett?"

"Right," Fawcett said. "The thing to remember, girls, is that while you may _want _to have sex, and your boyfriend may _want _to have sex, you should really make sure you're _ready _to have sex. Your first time is a very special time, and it's not possible to get it back, so err on the side of caution. And Hogwarts rules require students to abstain from sexual intercourse. Remember there are a lot of sexual things you can try without having intercourse: holding hands, kissing, and snogging—yes, girls, I said snogging. And remember that when you _do _have sex, there are consequences—you may become pregnant; you may acquire a sexually transmitted disease…"

I concentrated very hard on tuning her out. Clearly none of this applied to me; girls couldn't get other girls pregnant. I wondered if lesbians could even _have _sex? If we couldn't have sex, did that mean we couldn't get sick, either? Because that would be a relief—some of those pictures were terrifying. Or maybe there were, like, antidotes; you could take them and not get infected.

"Any questions?" Fawcett asked finally, when the last horrifying picture of someone who'd had sex with a boy disappeared from the wall. "Anything at all? It's always better to ask."

For a moment no one moved, and then Lyra put up her hand. "Yes, I have one," she said. "What about sex with women, Professor? You only talked about heterosexual sex."

The room burst into laughter, and Professor Fawcett looked a little flustered. She started to talk—at least, I thought she did: her mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear anything.

Lyra knew. Somehow, she had found out, and now she was making sure that I knew that she knew that I was a lesbian.

_Lyra knew._

OOOOOOO

A/N: As usual, I don't own the Potterverse! This chapter was beta'd by Ill Ame and brood saint, and they are the most amazing people for doing it. Tdolphing suggested the "Previously on ASIRAG" paragraph at the top, and feedback on that has been generally positive so it is here to stay!

Reviews make my heart sing, and I'd love to hear any feedback you have.


	43. Subterfuge

Last chapter, Lydia and Lyra wrote to Harry about the Rookwoods and Azkaban, and the headmistress instituted a sex ed class. Lydia put in motion her plan to stay in the closet, but she realized it had failed when Lyra asked Madam Pomfrey about non-heterosexual women…

Chapter Forty-Three: Subterfuge

As soon as Pomfrey dismissed us, I sprinted out of there and down to the library. Lyra didn't like the library much, and she didn't know it as well as I did, so I would have time to plan exactly what to do. The real question, though, was why she had asked about it like that—making sure I knew she knew, but not telling anyone else about it. I didn't think Lyra would actually _blackmail _me—did Gryffindors even do that?—but she was clearly holding it over my head for some reason.

I would just have to convince Lyra she was wrong, that was all. I would have to pretend to be straight, and then she would realize she had been mistaken and I wouldn't have to worry.

"Lydia!" Lyra whispered. I jumped up, which was a mistake; she caught the movement over by the potions texts (possibly, in hindsight, that had been a bad hiding place) and hurried over to me. "Sheesh, I wondered where you'd gone off to. Can we, um, talk for a sec?"

"Sure," I answered, sitting down warily.

"Oh, good," she said, sinking into a chair across from me. "I was worried you had something to do. But, see, I wanted to talk to you about, um. Well. Just when I asked about queer women you looked sort of awkward, and I was just worried—"

"Queer women? You mean, like, lesbians and stuff? I don't know what you're talking about," I said, dredging a smile up from somewhere. "I wasn't actually listening."

Lyra frowned. "Really? Because you went all red in the face when I said it—"

What game was she playing? I couldn't figure it out. She _knew_. She had as good as said so. Was she trying to get me to _admit _it? Were there other people _listening_? "Oh," I said. "Well. It's just that they're sort of different, aren't they? From other people?"

This time it was Lyra who got rather red in the face. "I don't think it's that much of a big deal," she said slowly, thereby proving once and for all that Gryffindors could be just as cunning as Slytherins.

Whatever she was playing at, she wasn't going to trick it out of me. I looked desperately around the stacks, trying to find something I'd missed, which I could use to distract her. But the library was mostly deserted: some seventh years headed towards the restricted section, and a prefect was browsing for Runes dictionaries. Loretta was in one corner; in the other was Jeffery Poole with an arm around a girl's shoulders. They looked pretty cozy, actually.

"…And you know my dads are," Lyra was saying. I wrenched my eyes back to her just as Poole turned; I could plainly see the girl he was with.

_Pernella_.

"I have to go," I said suddenly, jumping up. Lyra opened her mouth to say something, but I ignored her, pushing through the desks and scattered chairs. I couldn't even _see _straight. _My girlfriend_, with a _boy_. How _dare_ she.

They turned as I came running. "Hi, Carmichael," Poole said.

I nodded at him. "Can I talk to her for a second? It's important. Thanks." Without waiting for him to answer, I grabbed her hand and pulled her deeper into the stacks. I was so furious I could barely _see_.

"Lydia," Pernella whispered urgently. "_Lydia_. Look, it's not—what it seems like."

"Really," I said, folding my arms. "It sure seems like it."

"Yes—I mean, I know it does. But he only had his arm around me for a _second_, I swear. And I was going to tell him to take it off, only then I thought that it might look like I was—"

"Queer?" The word came out louder than I intended it too, and we both glanced around to make sure no one had overheard.

"_Yes_," she ground out. "I don't want to date him, okay? I don't. I want to date you, that's why I'm _dating _you—" She broke off, and I realized suddenly that she was actually close to crying.

"Hey," I said. "Hey, Pernella, stop that, don't cry." It felt awkward to try to hug her in the middle of the library, but I did it anyway. "I want to date you too," I said. "I shouldn't've freaked out like that. I'm sorry."

Instead of calming down, Pernella started to bawl in earnest. "I just _hate _this!" she cried. "I h-hate having to worry and l-look over my sh-shoulder and _think_ about it all the t-time!"

"Me too," I whispered, stroking her hair. "But we'll figure it out, okay? And make it work." There didn't seem to be anything to say after that, so I kissed the top of her head. She drew a long, shuddering breath.

Suddenly, from the other end of the library, I heard a boy hiss, "Pernella! What the hell are you doing?!" I turned around to look, and that was when the hexes started coming. Instinctively I shoved Pernella behind me, towards the wall, and drew my wand. "_Protego_!" I shouted, aiming the Shielding Spell over my shoulder, towards whoever was attacking me. I could feel Pernella shaking behind me, and in my peripheral vision I could see people converging on us—attracted by the sound, probably. But I ignored it all; everything seemed to go strangely slowly, and I felt surprisingly calm. "_Parma_!" I snapped, switching my Shielding Spell to the stronger of the two. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" I wasn't sure—the Parmae Charm made it hard to see—but I didn't think I'd hit him.

"_Stupify_!" someone yelled, and I ducked. My shield shuddered, but held steady.

"Oh my God, we're going to _die_," Pernella whimpered behind me. I shot a look back at her over my shoulder. I felt horrible. This was obviously why she hadn't wanted anyone to know about us; Pernella wasn't good at fighting. She was a _Ravenclaw._ They fought with words.

Suddenly—stupidly, probably—I shoved her into the wall and stepped out of the protection of the Parmae. It hovered behind me, protecting Pernella; I didn't need it anymore.

"_Stupify!" _I yelled again, as he screamed, "_Defodio_!"

Something tore into my stomach, and I felt a sort of a weird burning sensation where my bellybutton was. I saw my spell hit him—he was a prefect, I realized belatedly as he went down—and then everything went black.

OOOOOOO

I woke up lying on my back in very starchy sheets. Gingerly, I rolled to one side and looked around. I couldn't see much—there were yellow curtains cutting me off from the rest of the room—but I knew it had to be the Hospital Wing.

"Oh, good, you're awake," came Pomfrey's voice as she bustled over. "Feeling better?"

"Er, yeah," I answered, rather surprised to find out it was true. My stomach didn't hurt anymore, even if I probed at it with my fingers.

Pomfrey smiled at me. "Nasty work, that hex was," she remarked, handing me a steaming goblet. "Drink that, then, and I'll want to keep you overnight."

"Do I have to?" I asked. I had _things_ to do—I had to talk to Pernella about what had happened, and Professor Snape had mentioned something about helping him re-catalogue his stores. And it was a Saturday; there was nothing more irritating that spending the weekend in the infirmary.

"Yes, you do," Madam Pomfrey insisted. "Drink your potion, Miss Carmichael, I'll wake you up for dinner."

I sniffed at the potion—it smelled like a sleeping draught, but with something else mixed in—and finally downed it. There didn't seem to be much use in arguing.

"There's a good girl," I heard Pomfrey say, and then someone knocked loudly on the door. The last thing I heard was her retreating footsteps.

I jolted out of sleep a few hours later with a dull headache. After a moment I realized why: there were raised voices coming from beyond my curtains.

"I have to see her!" someone was yelling. "I'm her _roommate_! That's practically family!"

"Well, I _am_ family," I heard Teddy retort. "I demand to see Lydia!"

"_I _am her best mate," Lyra snapped, and I burrowed farther under the covers. The last thing I wanted was for her to continue her attempts at outing me.

"Yeah right," I heard Cameron say. "You two never even hang out."

"If you will excuse me," Professor Snape drawled, "I should like to get into the Hospital Wing. Miss Wood, Mr. Lupin, don't block the corridors." I heard the door creak open, and then Professor Snape spoke again. "Poppy, I would like to see Miss Carmichael."

"Severus, she's asleep," Pomfrey protested, sounding a little frazzled.

"I very much doubt that anyone could sleep through that racket," he answered coolly. "Is she to the left?"

Pomfrey sighed and muttered something I didn't catch, but it made Professor Snape chuckle. I scrambled to sit up as he moved the curtain aside; there was something about talking to my professor lying down that seemed very awkward. "Miss Carmichael," he said. "I'm glad to see you're awake."

"Hi, Professor," I said.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm okay," I said. "Pretty good, actually. The drugs Pomfrey gave me helped a lot."

"I'm glad to hear it," he answered. "But I would like a name, Miss Carmichael: who did this to you?"

"I've no idea," I said. This wasn't strictly true—I knew, in a general sense, who it could be—but I hated to tell Professor Snape. Then he would get expelled and none of the other Slytherins would get a chance to hex him for me.

"Miss Carmichael," he insisted. "A _name_. I will not have the rest of my House enacting vengeance on your behalf."

I sighed. "I don't know his name," I repeated, "but he's a sixth-year prefect in Ravenclaw. Dark hair."

"Mr. McAllister," said Professor Snape. "Thank you, Miss Carmichael, I will do my best to see him expelled." He hesitated, as if he were about to say something else, and then he patted my shoulder sort of awkwardly. "Shall I send in your friends? You have quite a crowd clamoring at the door."

"Sure," I said. "Does Madam Pomfrey think I'll be able to leave soon?"

"I'll ask," he promised, and patted me on the shoulder again before leaving. I took about thirty seconds to finger comb my hair: it was all matted from being slept on.

"Lydia!" Teddy yelled, and then there were about a dozen people sitting on my bed. "I'm going to kill him," Teddy said. "No one messes with my cousins."

"Did you get him back?" Zach asked.

"Is it true that you're a lesbian?" Cameron asked. "It's all over school."

"Don't be stupid," Alicia snapped. "She's not a lesbian, that's disgusting."

"Hey!" Lyra protested, as Maddison retorted, "Shut the hell up, Alicia, I am so sick of your bigotry."

"Um," I said weakly. "What are people saying exactly?"

"That you're gay," Lyra said helpfully. "And that whoever jumped you found out, and now everyone knows." She paused. "You could have just _told _me, you know."

"Um," I said again. "I thought you knew?"

"So, wait, you _are_?" Alicia said. "God, that's disgusting."

"Travers!"

"What? Look, if Lydia wants to sleep with girls that's her choice, whatever, but I don't have to condone it—"

"Alicia!"

"Can we not talk about how fucked up I am?" I interrupted finally. "I'm _right here_. And so what if I am gay?"

There was a sort of awkward silence for a moment. "Well," Evan said finally, "I don't care."

"It's nice to know _someone _isn't a bigot," Maddison said scathingly, mostly to Alicia.

"I still want to know who hexed you," Teddy said. "And anyone who wants to date you has to go through me."

"What is this, the Middle Ages?" Lyra snapped, and Maddison opened her mouth—probably to lecture Teddy on my behalf. But she never got the chance; Madam Pomfrey bustled back in, looking positively murderous.

"Out!" she said. "All of you _out_! I _will _have quiet, and Miss Carmichael _will _have her rest!"

There was a lot of grumbling, but everyone filed out obediently. Zach paused on the way to murmur, "What was his name?"

"McAllister," I whispered back. "Sixth-year prefect. Ravenclaw."

"I'm on it," he whispered, squeezing my shoulder sympathetically before he left.

Pernella was the last to go. She hadn't said anything with everyone else there, and she didn't say anything now; she just dropped a folded piece of parchment onto the bed and scurried out the door. Madam Pomfrey frowned at it but made no move to take it away. "I'll get you a sleeping draught," she said after a moment, and I unfolded the letter as soon as she had gone.

_Dear Lydia,_

_I don't really know how to say this. I hope you're okay. I hope Charles didn't hurt you too badly. I was so scared when you went down and the shield disappeared and they're saying you might be out all day and I'm scared. Pomfrey says you won't die but she's supposed to say that, isn't she?_

_I'm sorry about Charles. I think it's all my fault. He's my cousin, you see, and I don't know what he was thinking but I don't think he would have been thinking it if we hadn't been kissing. This is why I didn't want anyone to know!!! I'd never be able to handle looking out for this every day._

_I'm sorry, Lydia, but I can't do this with you anymore. I just can't. I'm too scared and I'm too miserable and I just can't. I know it's all over the school about you, but no one knows about me yet except for you and Charles. I can take care of him, but can you not tell anyone about us? I know that's a lot to ask because I'm breaking up with you and I'm doing it in a letter and everyone says you shouldn't do that. But I can't ask you in person, there are too many people around and what if someone __heard__? So if you could please not tell anyone about me? And I'm really, really sorry, Lydia. Really. But I don't know what else to do, I'm not so brave as you and my family would hate me._

_Pernella_

For a long time I just stared at the parchment. I didn't know what to think. I couldn't believe Pernella was _dumping _me. In a _letter_. While I was in the Hospital Wing, no less!

On the other hand, I could sort of see where she was coming from, for the first time. The only family I really had left was Teddy, and not only was he the most unthreatening boy ever, he didn't care that I was gay. Pernella's family wasn't like that. Pernella's family cared. They _minded_. They were willing to hex people over it. And I definitely didn't want her to get disowned like I had.

But she'd still just broken up with me, and she hadn't had the decency to do it herself. I threw the letter as hard as I could and burst into tears. I felt stupid—it wasn't like I was in love with her, and it wasn't like we'd been _married _or something.

"Miss Carmichael?" came Madam Pomfrey's voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I muttered, wiping desperately at my eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She didn't say anything, but she patted my shoulder as she handed me a steaming goblet (what _was _it with people touching my shoulder today?). I sniffed, wiped at my eyes again, and downed it in one gulp. It tasted _awful_. "Could you, um, hand me that parchment on the floor? Please?"

"Of course," she said, and handed it to me without asking anything else. I wondered if teachers gossiped; I hoped not. It would be awful if she told Professor Snape that I'd been bawling. "Sleep well, Miss Carmichael," she added, taking back the goblet and leaving me alone. I crumpled up Pernella's letter, shoved it into my pocket, and buried my face in the pillow as I started to cry again. How _could _she? Why hadn't she talked to me about it earlier? I wouldn't have pressured her so much if she'd told me why she was so scared.

The pillow was soaking wet when I finally fell asleep.

I woke up twice more: once when Pomfrey gave me dinner, and once more in the middle of the night, when I was so disoriented I almost starting hexing things. It had been, I supposed, too long since I'd slept in a different bed—I'd been going back and forth from the Slytherin dorms to the Leaky Cauldron for so long; I hadn't had a proper sleepover in years. "I need to get out more," I muttered aloud, and then I rolled over and went back to sleep again.

OOOOO

Pomfrey woke me up before eight, asked all sorts of impertinent questions about my health, and finally let me brush my teeth and head back to my room to change into something clean. It was still early enough that the halls were deserted, and I could think as I walked. I had homework to do; I had to see about hexing Charles McAllister until he realized what a colossal mistake he'd made; I had to catch up on a whole day's worth of studying for my N.E.W.T. (which was less than four months away!); I had to think about Pernella.

I definitely didn't want to think about Pernella.

Maddison and Alicia were still asleep when I eased the door open and slipped into our room. I took a quick bath, pulled on a fresh set of robes, and grabbed my potions notes and a fresh ream of parchment and shoved them into my bag. Then I snuck back into the hallway, up the stairs, and out of the dorms. The Great Hall was empty this early, and I slid into a seat with my back to the wall and poured myself a cup of tea. Light streamed in through the windows, and the snow was finally starting to melt. It would have been a nice morning, if I hadn't just been outed to the entire school and then broken up with by letter.

I meant to study my potions notes, but instead I wrote a long letter to Meg, telling her about the fight and the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey.

_And then, _I finished, _she wrote me a __letter__ and broke up with me! I think that's the worst thing anyone could do, Meg, really. I keep oscillating between angry as hell and just really sad, and I don't know which to pick. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel? And I can't even tell anyone about it because you're the only one I told and I promised I wouldn't tell people about her, and I don't want to break that promise even though, you know, she deserves it. What do you think?_

_Also, I don't know what to do about Lyra. __Obviously__ she was up to something! Only I don't know if she was just trying to get me to admit it? And now that I have we're just back to how we were? I don't really know. She's a Gryffindor, Meg, she shouldn't be sneaky!_

_Anyway, tell me all about how life is going over in your crazy country. And you should write to me as soon as you can!_

_Sincerely yours,_

_Lydia_

I sealed the letter, helped myself to some toast, and determinedly pulled out my potions notes. I had two full days' worth of revising to get through.

OOOOOOO

A/N: This was beta'd by brood saint, so you should all love her forever! As usual, I don't own the Potterverse; I'm just playing.

I apologize for this taking forever! But I have reasons! Normally I like to have chapters betad twice at least, but one of my betas has gone on vacation to Arizona and didn't get a chance to look this over first. I've held onto it for so long because I wanted her to look at the fight scene specifically; I was worried it would read as "Evil Homophobe Hexes Innocent Gay Students, Again." That's a trope I really wanted to avoid.

But I decided to leave it the way you see it for a couple reasons. One is that Lydia is kind of clueless sometimes, and I wanted her to understand the pressure Pernella was under—and I wanted you guys to see it, too! And the symbolism (I hear you groaning, bear with me) in that scene was so interesting I hated to see it go. So—please, I'd love to hear if you think it worked, and hopefully the next chapter will be out much sooner! I can tell you you'll hear from Harry again, and that he won't be quite so ignorant as Lydia's hoping.


	44. On a Muddy Spring Day

_Previously, on _A Slytherin in Red and Gold_, as Lydia worried that Lyra was trying to ferret out her sexuality, she (Lydia) was distracted by the sight of Pernella with a boy! In the midst of trying to repair their relationship, both girls were attacked and Lydia landed in the Hospital Wing. She woke up to a crowd of friends and the news that the whole school now knew she was a lesbian. In all the commotion, Pernella managed to slip Lydia a break-up letter._

Chapter Forty-Four: On a Muddy Spring Day

I spent the rest of the week dodging rumors. It seemed like the entire school was staring at me like I had three heads or six arms or something. Even worse, they were _whispering_. Zach offered to start hexing people, but he couldn't hex the whole school (Charles McAllister, on the other hand, had been in and out of the Hospital Wing all week).

Meg wrote back, explaining that she didn't think Lyra had been trying to out me at all. Her letter also mentioned that between sneaking out at night to go for midnight broomstick rides and studying for exams, she hadn't gotten any sleep. Obviously the stress was causing her brain to melt a little bit, and anyway I liked Meg: I liked her frank letters and her crazy stories and the weird way American wizards thought. So I didn't hold her mistake against her.

But the biggest surprise came on Thursday at breakfast, when Harry's owl landed on the back of my chair, ate half my toast, and gave me a letter that read, _Dear Lydia, I heard you got into a duel and landed in the Hospital Wing. I think we need to talk; how does Saturday morning around eleven sound? I'll take you out for lunch. Don't worry, I've already cleared it with the Headmistress—just meet me at the main entrance. Love, Harry. PS—If Saturday morning doesn't work, I'll come up tonight for dinner. _

I didn't know what to say, but I knew that more time was always better. I scribbled a quick note that Saturday was fine and sent it off with the owl (who took the rest of my toast for the road), and then I sat and thought for a while. I had no idea how he'd found out about the fight, who he'd heard it from, or how much he knew. If all he'd heard was that I had been in a duel, I could just tell him that someone had said something mean about Muggle-borns, or Professor Granger, or something. Harry had been in so many fights when he was in school that I didn't think he would scold me if I had a good reason.

On the other hand, what if someone had told him I was a lesbian? I couldn't pretend that wasn't true; it was all over school. Anyone could confirm it. But why would anyone tell him about _that_?

Unless it was Lyra. Maybe, since she had failed to out me in the library, she'd told Harry!

But then, why would she even bother? I was already outed to the entire school; there was no reason for her to tell Harry, too. But in that case, who else would have told him? Teddy? Teddy wasn't a snitch, and he would have made a point to talk to me beforehand, anyway.

Well, I'd have to ask Lyra, that was all. Then I could find out how much Harry knew, and work from there. And while I was at it, I could borrow her Gryffindor robes; then Harry and I could have a short conversation about how my House principles had caused me to fight against injustice, or something.

"What's up?" Cameron asked, poking at me. "You look like a cat who's just gotten into the cream."

I jumped. "Oh, no, nothing. Harry's coming for lunch Saturday, that's all."

"Really?" Cameron asked. "Seriously? Can I meet him?"

"Cameron!"

"No, I mean it. Do you have any idea how much an autographed photo of him would go for? There's probably a first-year 'Puff who'd pay galleons for it."

"Look," I said quietly, "he still doesn't know I'm a Slytherin, and I'm not planning on telling him. So we're going to have a nice lunch in Hogsmeade and I'm not going to bring him to Hogwarts, because people would probably figure something was up if I was wearing the wrong robes."

Cameron laughed. "I hate to break it to you," he said, "but I'm sure he's already figured out you're lying about something."

"Maybe," I said, "but I'd like to make sure he figures out as little as possible. Anyway, Cameron, I've got to go. Pomfrey wants to see me before class and I have to finish my Charms essay."

"Right," Cameron answered. "You go ahead, I'll just finish breakfast. See you in class."

"Uh-huh," I said as I grabbed my bag and my letter and hurried out of the dining hall. Madam Pomfrey had said this was a "routine follow-up", whatever that meant. I didn't think it was actually necessary, though: I felt fine. I explained all that to her as soon as I got to the Hospital Wing, but Pomfrey insisted on a quick set of diagnostic spells anyway.

"Are you sure you're feeling quite all right?" she asked when she was finally finished. "And Miss Carmichael, if there is anything—anything you need to ask someone about—you should feel free to ask me."

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey," I told her, "but I'm fine, really. And I really have to go finish an essay."

"Of course," she said, and let me go.

OOOOOO

Classes that morning were mostly focused on our upcoming exams ("Three months is not a lot of time!" Professor Granger kept reminding us), and I did my best to take notes. I had spent so much time thinking about potions that I was starting to fall behind in the rest of my classes, and the past weekend hadn't helped any. Professor Snape never asked about the rest of my classes, but I knew he wanted me to do well. _I _wanted me to do well. And I would need good marks in everything, not just potions. I couldn't spend the rest of my life working as a maid at an inn, after all.

In the afternoon I went for a walk along the outskirts of the forest (I wasn't daft enough to go into it). I was still thinking about what Maddison had said the week before about being out as a Slytherin. I still didn't agree with her that I had any obligation to anyone to be open about anything, but at the same time I wondered. I _was_ lying about being a Slytherin—not outright, but by omission. And I was only telling the truth about being gay to people at Hogwarts, and only because someone else had told them first.

But then—it wasn't anyone else's business. And what if Harry was angry about my house, or my sexuality? What if Sonia and Matthew realized I was gay and didn't want me around anymore? It wasn't as easy as just coming out about things. Maddison didn't know what she was talking about.

For a moment I wondered what would have happened to me if Sarah and Jess hadn't come out—if I hadn't had known there were actual lesbians out there. Would I have ever figured out about myself? And if I had, would I have known it was okay?

But they were older. They were already comfortable with themselves, and they didn't have as much to lose. And I owed _them _for coming out; I didn't owe future generations (or Harry) any more than they had owed me.

With that in mind, I started to think about how much I could tell Harry. At all costs, I had to keep my family situation quiet. I wanted to keep quiet about Slytherin and the whole gay thing, too, but if it came to that, it would be better to throw him off the scent of my family's stupidity by admitting the rest of it. And if he couldn't handle it, it would just be easier to keep my summer plans secret.

"Hey, Lydia!" I turned around; Lyra was dashing towards me, her cloak flapping behind her. "Lydia, hold up a minute."

I stopped and waved—it was nice to see her, even if I was still angry that she'd gone and written to Harry about me. Lyra waved back at me and forced herself into a sprint. She was still dressed for Quidditch practice, and her robes were covered in mud—her cloak was the only clean thing about her, and it was getting progressively more mud-splattered as she ran.

"Hi," she said again when she got closer. "Did you come to spy on us?"

"No," I said, kind of defensively. I hadn't known the Gryffindors were playing—if I had, I might have gone to watch. Not to spy, though. "You know I wouldn't know what to report if I did. I'd say something like, 'The Gryffindors were practicing things where they flew around after that ball, which one is it, the reddish one.'"

Lyra giggled. "You're hopeless," she said. "Come visit me for Easter hols, I'll teach you Quidditch."

"No, thank you," I said. Although if I was going to be honest, I wouldn't mind flying with her again, if she was going to hold me. And if we didn't go too far above the ground.

But that was stupid, because she was straight and because I had just broken up with Pernella, and that was not an experience I ever wanted repeat.

"Lydia?" Lyra was saying. "You've got that faraway look on your face again. Focus!"

"I am," I said. "I don't want to fly, though, you can get killed doing that."

"Seriously, Lydia, who do you know that's ever died flying?" she asked, rolling her eyes. She was sort of exaggerating all her movements, and talking a little too loudly; it was like she was acting, or something. I looked around to make sure there weren't hidden cameras.

"Well, there have probably been plenty. And not just in Quidditch matches either, just ordinary people who died. Struck by lightning, probably."

"I don't think you can die like that," she told me doubtfully. "Don't you have to be grounded?"

"Uh, maybe," I said. I didn't know much about death by lightning. "Oh, hey, I got a letter from Harry. You didn't…write to him or anything, did you?"

"Yeah, I write to him sometimes," she answered. "But I didn't write to him about you, if that's what you mean. I figured, you know, your sexuality, your coming out, your choice. Why?"

I nodded at her answer. She wouldn't lie outright. "He sent me a note. He wants to meet. Here," I said, digging it out of my pocket.

"'I heard you got into a duel, I think we need to talk'?" she read. "That sounds kind of ominous."

"It sounds like someone wrote to him," I agreed.

"Well, it wasn't me," she said firmly. "I mean, I think you should talk to him, and I'm glad someone's finally written to him, but it wasn't me. I promised I wouldn't."

"I know," I said, sitting down on a piece of dryish grass and motioning for her to sit next to me. "It's just, someone did. And I don't really…I'd like to know where I stand before I talk to him, you know?"

Lyra sighed, crossing her legs in front of her and leaning back on her hands. "Well, maybe it was a professor," she said. "Because I didn't and Teddy wouldn't think to, so…maybe it was a professor? Like Aunt Hermione or something?"

"Maybe," I agreed. "What do you think she'd have told him?"

Lyra shrugged. "Hell if I know. That you got into a fight?"

"He got into fights with dark wizards every year he was at school," I protested. "He wouldn't bother coming down just for a fight. No, he knows something else."

"Well, maybe he wants to make sure you're all right."

I nodded. "Hey, can I borrow your robes?"

"Why? What's wrong with yours?"

"Nothing, except that they say Slytherin on the front," I said. "That's not a conversation I want to get into."

Lyra frowned at me and picked at the grass. "Well," she said. "Here's the thing. I promised you I wouldn't tell anyone, and I haven't told anyone, but I still think you should tell Harry, because he's your godfather and he's not—he's not mean or anything, Lydia. You _know _that. And I think you shouldn't have to work in a pub all the time, or spend all your Christmases in the dungeons—"

"Lyra," I interrupted, "I like the dungeons and I like the Leaky Cauldron."

"But that's not the point," she insisted. "Christmas is a time for family, and summer is a time to relax, and you don't get to do either because your parents are so stupid. And I—I can keep your secret for you but I can't help you lie, Lydia. I think you need to tell him. Especially now that you're outed. You need a grownup on your side."

"I have lots of grownups on my side."

"Not _family_," she protested. "I'm sorry, Lydia, but I can't help you on this one. And—and if you try to borrow robes from someone else I'll tell him myself!"

"Lyra!" I gasped out. "You wouldn't!"

"I will so," she said. "I've been patient and supportive but I really don't like what you're doing. I really think you need to go to an adult. You can get angry if you want, but it's more important that you're okay." She folded her arms.

"It's none of your business what I tell Harry," I told her huffily. "I thought you were my friend."

"I am, you dolt. That's why I'm forcing you to do the right thing. What happens if you get sick or something, and there's no one to call? Or if you need a parent-slash-guardian to sign something?"

"Nothing's come up so far," I said.

"That doesn't mean nothing will," Lyra said. "Something horrible might happen. Or, or what happens if you get hurt getting back to the Leaky Cauldron this summer? They might not realize they should report you missing, and Mungo's won't know who you are even assuming someone gets you there, and no one else will know you're lying in a ditch somewhere!"

"There aren't any ditches," I protested, but I couldn't think of anything better to say. "Lyra, come on."

"No," she said. "No, I won't. What if something bad happened to you here and your parents didn't come? Or if they did come? You'd want a grownup who actually cared, wouldn't you? And don't say Snape cares, because he's a professor and doesn't count."

"I wasn't going to," I said, even though I had been thinking it. Snape _did _care. "Anyway, I'll take my chances."

"No way," Lyra said. "The whole point of having friends around is to stop you from taking stupid chances. Look, you tell Harry, and if he's stupid about it I'll yell at him and you can come live with me, okay?" She put an arm around my shoulder. "Come on, say yes."

I was about to argue, but at that moment Teddy appeared on the horizon and ran over to us, waving madly. "Hi!" he said. "How's my favorite cousin and the most awesome beater ever?"

"Hi, Teddy," we chorused. He grinned and collapsed onto the ground between us, moving Lyra's arm off my shoulder and onto his.

"Glad I ran into you," he said. "I've been wanting to have a talk with you for days, Lydia."

_Great_, I thought.

"What about?" Lyra asked for me. She was frowning. "Anyway, Lydia and I were talking first."

Teddy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but you're girls," he said. "You'd talk forever if you could." We both opened our mouths to protest this, but Teddy grinned. "Kidding," he said. "Seriously, though, can I talk to you?"

"Sure," I said. "I mean, I guess."

"Er, alone?" he asked, looking pointedly at Lyra. She rolled her eyes at me, but stood up.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," she said. "Catch you later, Lydia?"

"Sure," I said. "I have to meet with Professor Snape tonight after dinner, but if you're there early we could talk?"

"Awesome," she said. "Bye, Ted."

Teddy waved at her before collapsing onto his back on the ground and sighing heavily. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

"Not really," I told him dubiously. "It's muddy and wet, and it's still kind of cold."

"Nonsense," Teddy said. "It's spring! There are flowers, er, in the greenhouses. One of them tried to eat me in class. Sprout said she despaired of me and I was going to drive her into an early retirement."

"That'd be kind of depressing," I said. "I mean, I like Professor Sprout. She's nice, and she knows what she's talking about. Professor Snape says she's one of the best herbologists in Europe. He says we're lucky to have her."

"You know, it's kind of creepy the way you repeat whatever Snape says," Teddy said with a frown. "You don't catch me repeating things teachers say."

"That's because you keep forcing them into early retirement," I pointed out. I felt too lazy to argue, and it was pointless to argue with a Gryffindor about Professor Snape anyway. "Was that what you wanted to talk about?"

"No," Teddy said. "I wanted to tell you that I am fully supportive of your being gay—"

"Thanks, Ted."

"_And _I wanted to say that you should feel free to tell me before you start dating anyone, so that I can make sure they're a good person and not someone who's going to turn out to be weird or break your heart or anything. And also then I can keep an eye on you so if you get attacked in the library again I can hex them first."

I looked at Teddy with some surprise. He'd never really seemed to be the type to try to play the protective older brother, especially not with me. Even so, it was nice to have his support.

Of course, there was no way on Earth I was going to let him interrogate my dates. No one would ever want to go out with me if he did that.

"I'll let you know if it's anyone important," I compromised. "But you'll have to be nice to her."

"I'm always nice!" Teddy said. "But it's my job to look out for you. Like, I'm looking out for Victoire too. And I'll look out for Harry's kids when they're old enough to need looking out for. Otherwise you all might wind up dating the wrong people."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Whatever, Teddy. I don't know why you think you'll be more intimidating than Harry anyway. He saved the wizarding world from evil, and you can't even pick a hair color."

"Then there's no reason not to let me talk to your girlfriends, is there?"

"Maybe," I answered. "Come on, let's go inside—I told Lyra I'd meet her for dinner."

Teddy frowned as he sat up, brushing the mud from his robes, but followed me inside without protest.

oOOOo

A/N: As usual, nothing is mine, there is no profit, please don't sue. This was beta'd by the lovely Ill Ame; she deserves thanks and praise and cookies.

I fail at life for taking so long to update, but it's the summer now, and I'll be writing all summer! So hopefully updates will be much faster. You'll see Harry next chapter (whee!), which I know a bunch of you have been looking forward to, and there's plenty of Lydia/Lyra interaction after that.

I know I haven't been individually responding to reviews, but please believe I appreciate them all and dance around like a maniac whenever I get them! And I will reply to each of them, um, as soon as I get the chance. Summer means time, right?

Thank you all for reading this far, guys. :)


	45. Harry

_Previously on ASIRAG: _You may or may not remember that Lydia was recently outed in a terrific fight in the library, and then she was dumped by Pernella (via a letter!) and got an owl from Harry saying they should _talk_. Lydia's attempt to confide in Lyra ended (as usual) in Lyra telling her to just come clean, and Lyra was left to find another way to keep her secrets safe…

Chapter Forty-Five: Harry

Friday passed by much too quickly. I spent most of it agonizing over Harry, although even that couldn't stop me from noticing that it was finally warm and sunny, like a proper spring. But then of course it started raining Friday night, and Cameron and I had to sprint back to the castle through the drops.

Saturday morning dawned cold and grey, and—worse and worse!—my alarm never went off, and the clock was striking quarter til eleven when I finally woke up. I'd meant to scrounge around for different robes in the morning before I met with Harry, but that was clearly not going to work. Instead I was going to have to run just to meet him on time!

"Bloody hell!" I muttered, jumping out of bed and running into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and my hair and washed my face in approximately thirty seconds, and then I sprinted back into my room to throw on a marginally clean set of robes. I hopped around for a couple minutes trying to find a pair of socks (why is it that socks are always gone the moment someone _really _needs them?), so by the time I laced up my shoes and grabbed my cloak it was three minutes to eleven. I was going to be obviously a Slytherin _and _I was going to be late.

That was when my eyes landed on the bottle of Felix Felicis, lying nearly buried amidst a stack of overdue library books. I grinned. If there was ever a perfect time to use the potion, it was now! Enough good luck would fix everything. I reached for the bottle, uncorked it, and downed it.

Almost immediately the potion started to work. I felt lighter, practically weightless—it felt like I could do anything. If I jumped from Gryffindor Tower, I was pretty sure I would float. Suddenly it didn't matter about the robes; I had a good feeling about Slytherin robes. I had a good feeling about _Slytherin_.

I made my way to the main gates. I wasn't worried about rushing or being late—I knew the Felix Felicis would take care of that. No one stopped me in the halls, either, to ask where I was going; Peeves, who usually haunted the Slytherin corridor, was missing.

I got to the gates just as Harry walked into sight. He was dressed in Muggle trousers, but he had a cloak on too; I wouldn't have recognized him that far away, but the potion recognized him for me. Somehow I just _knew_ it was him, and I knew I should run to meet him. "Hullo, Harry!" I called when I was a bit closer. "How are Ginny and James and Lily and Al?"

"They're doing just fine," Harry said, giving me a one-armed hug (Harry never seemed comfortable with hugging people, but I got the feeling he forced himself. I guessed he thought kids needed physical contact or something). "How are you doing?"

"Everything's great," I told him brightly. At the moment it didn't even seem like a lie: the Felix Felicis made the whole world ten times better.

Harry looked a little skeptical. "Hermione says you've been getting into fights."

Ha, I thought. It had been Professor Granger all along! "Not really," I said as we started walking. "It was just the one fight, and I didn't start it or anything. People were always picking fights with you in school, weren't they?"

"Yes," he agreed slowly, "but I don't think it was quite the same thing."

I wondered—not for the first time—just what Harry had been like as a student. I was pretty sure he hadn't been such a stickler for the rules back then. "Sure it was," I argued. "He was just being stupid. Can we get going though? I'm starving."

Harry laughed, and we walked a little more quickly down the path that led to Hogsmeade. "But what was the fight about?" he asked after a few minutes.

I took a moment to think. If Professor Granger had told him there was a fight, she might have also told him what the fight was about. There was no guarantee she would have heard the right rumors, but if she'd been listening to her students then she would probably have heard people talking about how I was gay. I didn't want to tell Harry the truth, especially if he didn't know—but if Professor Granger had told him already, I couldn't afford to lie; he'd never believe anything else I said.

But I had a good feeling about telling him. I took a deep breath and said, "It was like this. There's this Ravenclaw prefect, McAllister, and he's a total idiot, and he saw me kissing my girlfriend—actually my ex-girlfriend because she dumped me the next day—and started hexing us, so I hexed him back, and then he hit me and I blacked out and woke up in the Hospital Wing." I said it all rather quickly, so he wouldn't have time to interrupt me.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I said. "I was just kind of shaken up. Pomfrey fixed everything."

"I didn't know you were gay," he remarked after a pause. "Has anyone else been hassling you about it?"

"Not really," I said. "Apart from McAllister everyone's been nice." Well, that wasn't totally true—Alicia hadn't been very nice about it at all. But I didn't want to go into that.

"I don't think Hogwarts was a very nice place to be open when I was there," he said. But by that time we had reached Hogsmeade, so I didn't have to say answer him as we made our way to The Three Broomsticks, found a table, and ordered (pot pie and butterbeer for both of us). I was halfway through my butterbeer before he mentioned it again: "Do your parents know?"

I shook my head. "I haven't told them or anything."

"Do you need anything? Someone to talk to, or something?"

"No, it's fine," I said. "I talk to the other people in my house, and it's fine. It's really not a big deal, Harry."

He frowned like he was about to say something else, and I had a feeling it would be a good idea to distract him. "You haven't really told me how James and Al and Lily are," I said. "And what has Ginny been up to? Lyra said you were all going to go to a Quidditch game."

Harry's face cleared. "They're all doing wonderfully," he said. "Lily started taking violin lessons last month. She's planning on becoming a virtuoso. And Jamie just got his first broom. We're going to take all the kids to the Harpies game over Easter. We'd have invited you but we all know how you feel about Quidditch."

"Yeah, I don't see the point," I agreed. "Is Ginny doing okay?"

"She's fine," he said with a smile. Harry always smiled when he talked about his wife. "She's still writing"—Ginny was a sportswriter for the _Quibbler_—"and I think she'll be up for a promotion soon."

We talked about his family for a while longer—it seemed like the Felix Felicis made him steer clear of my family entirely—and then about Teddy, and whether he was going to be thrown out of school before he managed to finish (his latest escapade had involved a night in the Forbidden Forest because he "wanted to see what would happen"). We were nearly finished with dessert when I started to feel sort of deflated and sad. I could tell the potion had started to wear off, but luckily there was enough of it left to convince Harry we should be heading back. I told him I had to write an essay, and he agreed to catch a carriage instead of walking. I was nearly inside the castle doors when he said, "Oh, Lydia?"

"Yeah, Harry?" I asked with a sinking feeling.

"What's this Hermione tells me about you being a Slytherin? I can't believe I'd forgotten about it, especially since you've got a snake on your robes."

I knew for sure the potion had worn off then, but I tried to make the best of the situation. "Well, yeah," I said. "Didn't I tell you first year?"

"No," Harry said. "You left that part out."

"Oh," I said, feigning innocence. "I guess it slipped my mind."

Harry frowned and mussed his hair. "You didn't leave it out because you were afraid of what I'd say, did you?"

"No," I said. "Not really. Maybe a little bit."

"Lydia," he said, sounding frustrated, "whatever problems I had with Slytherin when I was here—that was fifteen years ago."

"I know," I said. "I guess was I just worried. And then there didn't seem to be a good way to slip it in later."

"Well, I wish you had said something earlier. Snape's not giving you a hard time, is he?"

"No, he's been really great," I said. "I'll write to you about it. But I _really _have to finish that essay…."

"Of course you do," he said. "I'd nearly forgotten. Well, go on then. Send me a letter tonight." He hesitated a moment. "There's nothing else, is there? I'm not going to get a letter from Hermione telling me you've been caught raising dragons in the dungeons or something?"

"No," I lied. "There's nothing else. Sorry for not letting you know about all this sooner."

"I suppose I can see why you left it out," he finally conceded. "Go write your essay, then." He pulled me into a tight hug, and I remembered to thank him for lunch before making a quick escape back to my rooms. It hadn't gone as well as I'd hoped—even with the potion he'd still found out too much—but it seemed like he'd already heard everything from Professor Granger. At any rate there was no worry about her telling him about my parents; Professor Snape was the only one of the staff who knew, and even then I was pretty sure he had only guessed. I'd certainly never told him outright.

OOOOO

"Well?" Lyra asked just before dinner. "How did it go?"

"It was fine," I said. "Professor Granger had told him about—about the fight and me being a Slytherin and stuff. But I don't—he didn't mind."

"What did he say about your parents?" she demanded. "Is he going to go hex them for being terrible people?"

"Oh," I said. "I didn't tell him that part."

"_Lydia_," she groaned, deflating a bit. "Why not? He'd have fixed everything."

"I guess," I said. "But I don't really want him to know, and I don't—I guess I don't really want him to fix everything either. Because if he made my parents—I mean, I wouldn't want to go back with them. I like living at the Leaky Cauldron. And I'm managing it all myself." The problem was all tangled up in my mind, but I knew for certain that telling Harry would only make things worse. It would make him feel sorry for me, and he would insist on returning me home—a place I hadn't even seen in three years—or making me come to live with him or Grandmother. I knew they wouldn't mean it like that, but I would feel like someone's poor, unwanted relation. It was different for Teddy; his parents had died bravely in the final battle of the war. Everyone knew they would have wanted to keep him if they'd lived.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Lyra said. "I wish you'd just tell him already, so I could stop worrying so much. And Teddy's worried too, he's going to guess you've been disowned at some point and he'll be really hurt you didn't say anything."

The thought made me anxious. I didn't want Teddy to be angry with me, or to think I didn't trust him. But there was no way he'd keep quiet about it. "That's why I'm not going to tell him," I said. "So he won't be angry."

"Fine," she said in irritation. "I guess it's your call. Just, if you change your mind…."

I shot her a smile. "I'll tell you if I do, promise. But it's time for dinner, we don't want to be late."

"Yeah, guess not," she said. She squeezed my shoulder once before we went into the Great Hall: it made my stomach do a weird sort of flip. My stomach had been doing a lot of those around Lyra lately. It was actually really frustrating; it wasn't fair that I had a crush on a straight person—although since there were only three other lesbians at Hogwarts, that was almost inevitable. I was still thinking about it when I slid into a seat next to Evan. For a moment I considered asking his advice, but then I couldn't figure out how to explain the situation. He'd only known for a few days; that didn't seem like enough time for him to have gotten used to me.

"You all right?" he asked. "Stuff go okay with your godfather?"

"Yeah, it was better than I thought it would be," I said. "What'd you do all day?"

"Essay for Trent," he said. "And then some herbology with Letta; she had practical work in the greenhouse. Would you mind giving us a hand later, actually? I don't remember much of what Sprout taught us last year."

"Yeah, that's fine," I said. "I just have to write a letter tonight; the rest of it can wait until tomorrow."

"Excellent," Evan said. "Here, have some pie."

We spent the rest of dinner helping to decide an argument between Cameron and Aaron over who had the most cunning plan for skipping out on exams in June, so I was able to put the letter to Harry out of my mind.

OOOOO

I met Letta and Evan in Greenhouse Three at eight thirty, after an hour spent trying to finish my letter. Letta was supposed to be weeding a patch of Tickling Lilies (I gathered that her class had been giggling too much to get anything done, so Sprout had given them tonight to finish rest of it instead of detention. She didn't mention why there weren't any others there), but she and Evan weren't having much luck. I saw at once what the problem was. "Here," I said, "you're letting them get the upper hand. You have to tickle them first, or they'll get you." I demonstrated, grabbing the nearest stem with one hand and tickling the petals with the other. "Then you can let go at the bottom and use that hand for the weeding."

"Oh, so that's what it was," Evan said. "We couldn't quite get it."

The three of us worked steadily. Once she got the hang of it, Letta was actually pretty good; she had just needed someone to show her how to do it again. Evan would have been better if he'd been able to keep his eyes on the plants instead of her. I wondered if he was always this obvious, or if it was just that they were practically alone. Had she figured it out yet?

We were finished in forty-five minutes or so. Evan said he wanted to walk Letta back to her common room, and I needed to go to the owlery, so we parted ways just outside the greenhouse door.

Perseus cooed as I walked in. "Hey, Perce," I called, and he flew to my shoulder and nipped gently at my ear. "Can you take a letter to Harry for me? It's important."

Perseus walked down my left arm to my wrist—something which rather hurt—so I could tie the letter around his leg. It had taken me a great deal of time to write, but I was proud of the results. I scanned it once more before I folded it up and tied it on. "Straight to Harry," I told him. Perseus clucked his beak and flew off.

_Dear Harry, _I had written,

_I think you're right that I was too scared to tell you. I shouldn't have been. But I was scared at first and then it seemed like it was too late to mention it, because I would look like an idiot for never having said so before. I didn't mean to lie, exactly, but I guess I hoped you would read something else into it. _

_I meant what I said about Professor Snape being great. I guess he doesn't like Gryffindors much but he takes care of Slytherin really well. He's actually been helping me out a lot with potions—he wants me to sit my NEWT this June. I feel pretty good about it. I know it's really unusual for a third year but I really like potions. I'll have to spend all Easter hols studying though. _

_I guess I wish Professor Granger hadn't written to you but I'm glad too. It's a bit of a relief not to be keeping secrets from you anymore._

_Say hi to everyone for me!_

_Love,_

_Lydia_

It was true—it was entirely true. The only lies were in what I had left out. Part of me felt bad for doing that when Harry trusted me, but a bigger part of me felt like I was protecting what I had. If Harry knew the truth, he would try to be a grownup and be in charge, and I didn't want a grownup to take charge. _I _was in charge.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: So I know, I know! It's been a year. I'm sorry, guys, I don't know why I'm so bad at this. College is hard! Writing Harry is hard! But I'm very much hoping to get this fic back up and running, so we'll see.

As per usual, I don't own anything. Ill Ame betad this for me instead of writing her final paper, and she also did helpful things like email me and tell me to get writing, so you should all thank her.

I also wanted to say thank you to the people who have reviewed or PMed me in the last few months and told me they were still waiting for an update. I don't think I'd have gotten this written if I hadn't known there were still people waiting for it. You guys are the _best_.

As always, feedback is love!


	46. Evan and Letta

Previously on ASIRAG, Lydia (mis?)used the Felix Felicis for her meeting with Harry, which went rather well, all things considered—admittedly, now he knows she's a lesbian Slytherin, but he still doesn't know where she spends her summers or why. But Lyra isn't quite so pleased…

Chapter Forty-Six: Evan and Letta

Harry wrote back the next morning to tell me it was fine, he understood completely. "See, I _told _you," Lyra said when I showed her. I felt a little bit bad about lying to him, but not that bad. It was my life, after all.

"I know, I know," I said. "You did tell me."

"He'd be just as nice if you told him about your mum and dad," she said. "And you could have Christmas with us."

"But I like having Christmas here," I protested. "It's nice to have a break where I don't have to listen to the grown-ups, and Christmas at Harry's wouldn't be like that at all."

"Yeah, but I'd be there," Lyra said. "Harry always has Christmas with Gran and Granddad."

I wondered for a few seconds what Christmas at Lyra's would be like. I was pretty sure it would be perfect; they probably did everything right, and maybe if we were both at Harry's for New Year's she would kiss me for good luck. "That would be fun," I admitted slowly. "But I can't, my parents always go to Grandmother's house for Christmas." What were they telling people anyway? Grandmother and Teddy would never believe I was sick every year on Christmas. Maybe they'd stopped going too.

"Argh," Lyra said. "You have the worst excuses."

Maybe she was right, but I didn't think they were excuses exactly—they were _reasons_. It wasn't that I didn't _want _to tell Harry, exactly; it was that there wasn't any good reason to do it, and lots of good reasons not to. I tried explaining that to Lyra, but she didn't seem to understand the difference.

OOOOO

We had a study party that night, mostly for Defense. Professor Granger was a really strict teacher; she didn't seem to understand that we didn't have _time_ to write essays and do practical work and read theory every night. I had to do potions, and we had other classes, and everyone was involved in clubs or Quidditch or _something_. But she had us moving really quickly through Dark creatures—not the really interesting ones, like werewolves (although that was fair, because we'd talked about them a little in Ethics already), but the more boring ones like basilisks. It was probably important that we learn about them, but I didn't care.

In fact, I'd noticed that my interests had narrowed a lot. I liked herbology, because you needed plants for potions. I liked Arithmancy and Ancient Runes because they were fun—they were like puzzles, and if you just sat and stared at them long enough you could make them make sense—but also because you could use Arithmancy for potions theory, and there were some potions that were only found in Runes, and Professor Snape said you couldn't trust the translators. But all I really cared about was potions—but that was okay, because after all I was going to be a potioneer after I left Hogwarts. Probably I would go on to make new and even more amazing potions. Professor Snape said that if I kept going the way I was, I could expect a top job right out of Hogwarts with my pick of labs. Or I could go into theoretical work, he said, but theoretical work didn't sound like it was half as much fun, and I'd need practical work to back up the theory. I wasn't going to be one of those people who sat in a library all day and decided they knew all about how potions worked by reading what other people did with them.

"Hey," Cameron said, interrupting my train of thought. "I'm confused. So, the book says, quote, _You meet a brown canine at the crossroads. It whines and sniffs the air. You are likely dealing with which creature? How should you react to it? _Anybody know? I don't remember this one from class."

"Maybe because you weren't paying attention in class," Marissa suggested. "I've noticed you usually don't."

"Are you sure that's even a dark creature?" Hornby asked. "It sounds like a normal dog to me."

"What would a normal dog be doing at a crossroads?" I asked. I didn't like Hornby much. He was loud and full of himself. I had no idea what Lyra saw in him—if I was her, I would have dumped him ages ago, not let him date me for _months_.

"Just walking, maybe? I don't remember any dark creatures that hang out at crossroads. It's probably a trick question."

"It's probably something Granger didn't mention," I shot back.

"Well, we can check the index and see," Evan cut in patiently. "If it's a dark creature, then one of its characteristics must be crossroads or other places like that."

We checked the index. There was nothing under crossroads, so I looked for anything else that might be sort of similar: gallows, caves, creepy abandoned houses. Nothing there either.

"I think it's just a dog," Evan said. "Good catch, Hornby."

I resisted rolling my eyes. I knew Hornby was probably smirking behind me. What kind of stupid Defense book put normal dogs in? It was pretty much false advertising.

"Hey, can you help us with this potions essay?" Jill Holmes asked me. "Lyra and I are really confused."

"Yeah, sure," I said. Whatever, Hornby could have his trick question. He'd probably get it wrong anyway, and Professor Granger would dock points. I decided to forget about him and concentrate on helping Lyra figure out her essay.

OOOOO

"What was that all about?" Evan asked me later that night. We were sitting in the common room by the fire, trying to get warm. "I thought you were going to take Hornby's head off."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when he said he thought that question was just a trick question. I thought you were going to hex him or something. Is something going on?"

"No," I said moodily, crumpling up a sheet of parchment and throwing it into the flames. "I just don't like him."

"Why not? He seems pretty decent to me."

"He's a jerk," I said. "He's so full of himself. He's so—so _stupid_."

Evan looked kind of skeptical.

"And," I said, warming to the subject, "he looks like a goat. He has a really stupid haircut. And his voice is really annoying. I don't know why Lyra would ever want to kiss him, he's gross."

"What, are they back together or something?" he asked.

"What do you mean, back together? They've been together since before Halloween," I said in annoyance.

"I'm pretty sure they broke up like a month ago," Evan said. "Marissa told me when it happened. And he's been flirting pretty hardcore with Lombardi—you know, that girl in Trent's class with us?"

"Yeah, I know who she is," I said. "Wait, though, really? They broke up?"

Evan nodded.

"How come I didn't know about it then?" I couldn't have possibly missed that. I would have noticed if Lyra was single, wouldn't I? Why hadn't she _told _me?

"You've been kind of distracted," Evan said awkwardly. "And not around very much."

That was probably true, I thought. I'd been with Pernella a lot, and then I'd been freaking out about other people finding out. Still, though…

"But really," Evan was saying, "what's wrong with Hornby?"

"I don't know," I said. I was still caught up in thinking about Lyra. "He's just so—annoying."

Evan was quiet for a little while. Then he said, "Is that it? Does he bother you because he and Lyra were, you know, together?"

I didn't say anything.

"Because," he continued hesitantly, "sometimes people feel really weird things, or do really weird things, because they like someone else. Like, sometimes you get mad at someone because they're talking to the girl you like, even though that's really stupid. People aren't always, you know, rational, when it comes to love."

I shot Evan a look. I knew him well enough to know when he was talking about some general truth and when he was talking about himself. "Are you and Letta…?"

"No," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I mean. Well, she's really young, she's only a second year. And with my parents, I don't—I don't really want to put her in that position. It wouldn't be fair."

"You don't think she likes you?" I was pretty sure she did. They were together all the time and she _always_ let him walk her home. That was the sort of thing you did when you were trying to get someone to kiss you, wasn't it? "Was it your idea to ask me for help with the greenhouses last night?" I asked suspiciously. Had Loretta arranged to be alone with Evan in the greenhouse, only to have me ruin her plans?

"Well, yeah," he said. "We didn't really know what we were doing."

I folded my arms. "Evan," I said. "If you want to date her, and she wants to date you…"

"It wouldn't work. I don't want to come between her and the rest of her family, and she's having enough problems with her house already. I don't want to make our friendship awkward. It wouldn't be fair."

"I think that's the worst excuse I've ever heard," I said.

"What about you? Why haven't you asked Wood out then?"

"That's different," I said. "I can't ask a straight girl out."

"Is…she straight?" Evan asked.

"Uh, yeah," I said. I was sort of disappointed in Evan. Just because a girl played Quidditch didn't mean that she was gay! "But it's sort of frustrating," I said after a moment. "I mean, falling for someone you can't be with."

"Yeah," Evan said with a sigh. "It is, isn't it?"

"Like, is it worse when she touches me? Because I know she doesn't mean anything by it, but on the other hand it makes me really happy, so…"

"Yeah," he said. "She wants me to come for Easter hols."

"She does? You mean to meet her aunt and uncle?"

"Yeah." He didn't sound very happy about it.

"Did she say why?"

"She said she'd miss me," he said, rubbing at his face. "I just feel like—I don't want her to feel like she has to. I mean, because I—I don't want her to feel like she owes me. Because I owed her to start with, so now we're even, I guess."

I took a deep breath. "Evan," I said. "First of all, you don't owe anyone anything because of what your parents did. And secondly, don't tell me you're only friends because you think you owe her something."

"No," he said. "God, no. Just—I don't want her to think she has to date me or anything, because I…I'm not going anywhere. She doesn't have to have a romantic relationship to keep me as a friend."

"Well, that isn't the way to tell her," I said. I wasn't sure what to do about the rest of it. It sounded kind of like Evan had been reading the trashier sort of romance novel—I didn't know anyone who wasn't a character in a book who dated someone out of obligation. "Aren't you going to go for hols?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Evan's absolute sense of right and wrong was one of the things I liked best about him. He always knew what he should do and he never let himself slip up. But right now I wished he would just relax a little bit. Everyone could see that he and Loretta were practically dating already. "You should go," I said.

"I doubt her aunt and uncle want to meet me."

"Why? They probably know you're like her best friend. And if they know that auror then they know she cares about you, because remember she wouldn't let them talk to you without her there?"

"Yes, I remember that," he said. He was being sarcastic so I threw a piece of parchment at him. "I just don't want her to feel like she has to do anything to keep me," he said seriously. "I don't want her to feel like she's being pressured."

"Maybe you should just ask her."

"Maybe you should just ask Wood."

I glared at him, only to find he was glaring at me too, and we both started laughing. "Yeah, right," I said finally. "Come on, we should go to bed."

Probably, I thought later, when I was finally in bed and starting to drift off, it was a good thing Lyra was straight. If she was gay, and we did get together, I didn't want one of her cousins to hex us. Lyra had a lot of cousins, and once was more than enough.

OOOOOO

On Tuesday evening, I met with Professor Snape again to go over some questions I had about the proper use of basilisk venom in poisons (weirdly enough, ground basilisk skin was really useful in healing potions. There was a rule about this: the deadliest poisons were often made from a plant or an animal that had amazing healing properties in another part or prepared in another way. Mandrakes were the same). "None of the books agree about proper storage methods," I complained. "Reiner thinks it should be frozen; Hipworth says specially reinforced glass bottles; Starkey says you should milk the basilisk fresh each time, but it's not like we _have _basilisks running around anymore."

Professor Snape leaned back in his chair. "I was wondering when we would hit this point," he said. "Up until now, you have been primarily working on potions that have already been developed and improved; they're textbook-friendly. We don't teach Hogwarts students experimental potions that experts are still debating."

"Except this," I said.

"Right," Professor Snape agreed. "You've now hit a point in your research where the experts don't agree. Basilisk venom is an ingredient in a number of potions, but it's used rarely; basilisks are practically extinct. So no one is entirely sure of the best way to store it—or if, as Starkey argues, it's better to harvest fresh, assuming you can get it. Remember, she lived very deep in the country and seems to have had access to one. It's rare to have that luxury now. Was this in your reading? It's not part of the NEWT curriculum."

"It was in some supplementary reading," I said. The NEWT section on poisons had led me into the theory behind the deadlier ingredients—the ones that made poisons actually poisonous. That in turn had led me to basilisks. "I know it wasn't really relevant, but I got interested."

"Are you focusing on the NEWT material? I don't want you to get caught up in tangential points when you need to be studying for your exam."

"I'm on track," I told him. He had a copy of my timetable, and I saw him reach into his desk and pull it out.

"This says you should be done learning new material by Easter holidays, and onto revising it and re-revising material you already knew."

"Yes, sir. I have just two new sections left, and Easter holidays aren't for three weeks."

"Good," he said. "Keep me informed, Miss Carmichael. Now, I thought we'd look at love potions tonight. Can you prep a cauldron?"

OOOOOOOOOOO

A/N: So this is year six of writing this fic, and I am only on year three in fic-time. At this rate Lydia won't leave Hogwarts until I am practically thirty.

As usual—I don't own this universe, I just like to play in it. Ill Ame and brood saint both beta'd this for me, so you should send lots of lovely thoughts their way. Mistakes are of course mine and not theirs.

I have a huge, huge number of unanswered reviews in my inbox, for which I apologize, but I wanted to say a huge thank you to all of you for your support and your reviews and the fact that you're still reading—I had almost two hundred visitors to this fic last month (thanks, tracker!), which is just really exciting. You guys are the _best_.


	47. A Lonely Holiday

Previously, on ASIRAG, Lydia has managed to keep her living arrangements secret from Harry even as he found out about her house and her sexuality-a waste of a good Felix Felicis potion, at least according to Lyra. But she doesn't have much time to think about her success, because NEWTs are fast approaching, and Lydia's having a hard enough time getting all her studying done while trying not to let onto anyone other than Evan that she's got a crush on Lyra...

Chapter Forty-Seven: A Lonely Holiday

The weeks before Easter holidays passed faster than they had any right to. I moved as quickly as I could through love potions and truth potions, but truth potions in particular were very tricky, and the week and three-quarters I had set aside for them didn't seem like enough time. I spent a lot of my days locked in a study carrel, cramming potions theory into my brain, and then after dinner I would go into Professor Snape's lab and do the practical work.

I was enjoying it—really, I was, I loved potions—but there was a lot to do and it kept me very busy. Just before the holidays, Lyra cornered me in the corridor and said, "Lydia! I haven't seen you in days. Were you even in Transfiguration yesterday? Can you come for Easter? Merlin, you look like you haven't slept in years and years."

"I think I slept through Transfiguration," I admitted. "And I _am _tired. It's been a really long couple of weeks."

"So you'll come then? We have a spare room and I'll tell my dads not to wake you up."

"I wish I could," I said, which was mostly the truth. A whole two weeks with Lyra would be amazing—but it would also be kind of torturous. I really _liked_ her, and if we were alone during the holidays, what would happen if she realized? She didn't seem to mind that I was gay (unless by mentioning the spare room, she was trying to say I shouldn't think about sleeping in her room and trying anything?), but I was pretty sure she'd mind if I started hitting on her. "But I have so much work," I continued. "Like, there's all sorts of stuff I need to revise, and I've been trying to get through truth potions but they're really hard, and NEWTs are only, like, two months from now—"

Lyra threw an arm around my waist and steered me toward the kitchens. "Come on," she said. "I bet you haven't eaten all day. Half an hour isn't going to make you fail your NEWTs, so let's get something to eat, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "Okay, a sandwich or something sounds really good. Hey, um, are you and Hornby still going out?"

Lyra laughed. "God, no. We broke up like ages ago. I wasn't really into him anymore. I thought you knew."

"No," I said. "I didn't realize." When had that happened? Had Lyra said something, and I'd been too busy to notice? This didn't seem like the best time to ask if she was upset about it, or if she wanted me to hex him into oblivion for her. Or maybe the breakup had been her idea? Maybe Lyra had finally realized that Hornby was a stupid git who didn't deserve her.

"I would have said something," Lyra said. "I kind of thought I had? Well, it doesn't matter." She tickled the pear on the painting over the door to the kitchens and ushered me through as it swung open. "I wish you would come home with me," she added. "I think you'd have fun. You could have a proper Easter, and a proper holiday."

"But I really have to study," I said, sitting down on a stool and waving at the house elves. "Thanks, though."

"I don't like this one bit," she said. "I think it's terrible. I think you're going to be lonely and miserable and I'm going to miss you!"

"I won't be lonely," I promised. "Or miserable. I'll be too busy revising to notice anything other than that."

"Sandwiches?" one of the house elves asked, and we both nodded. In a moment there were two plates in front of us, with thick ham sandwiches and slices of tomato and cheese, two glasses of pumpkin juice, and another plate with chocolate chip cookies. I took a big bite of my sandwich. I felt like I hadn't eaten all week.

"Hmph," she said. "I still don't like it, Lydia. And I don't like that I never see you, it's like since you came out you've kind of been avoiding me, which is really stupid, you know, you shouldn't just ditch me—"

"I'm not ditching you or avoiding you!" I protested, which was pretty much true. "I am _trying_ to pass my NEWTs. Look, you should come visit me over the summer, okay? I won't be doing anything then except working."

"Okay," she said. "I'm keeping you to that, though. You can't weasel your way out this time."

"I won't," I said. "Promise."

It was nice that she still wanted to spend time with me, even though she was straight. I just hoped she wouldn't realize that I wanted a lot more than friendship.

OOO

I had kind of assumed I would have a lot of company over Easter hols, but the closer we got, the more my friends started making other plans. Lyra was going home, Cameron and Aaron were going to Aaron's, Evan was going to Letta's. Alicia and Maddison were both going home too, and Marissa was visiting her cousins in France. Part of me was happy there wouldn't be any distractions, but mostly I was feeling a little left out. Studying for the whole two weeks while everyone else had fun wasn't really my idea of a good time.

"Oh, you'll be fine," Cameron said the night before he left. "You'll probably manage to get all your work done, which is more than Aaron and I will."

"Oh, lovely," I said. "I can get work done and you and Aaron can blow things up."

"Come on," he said, nudging my shoulder. "Next year you'll be done with potions, then, won't you?"

"I guess." That was what I was most looking forward to, finishing the NEWT curriculum early—but it was a small consolation next to being all alone for the holidays.

"And you'll have your room to yourself," he added. This was something better; it seemed like Maddison and Alicia were at each other's throats all the time. A few weeks to myself sounded much more pleasant when I put it like that.

"Write to me?" I asked. "I'll write back."

"I'll send you hundreds of letters," he promised. I knew that really meant I would get three if I was very lucky, but I didn't press the point.

OOO

On the first morning of Easter holidays I slept so late I nearly missed lunch. Ordinarily I would have minded—in fact, I did kind of mind missing breakfast; I'd been looking forward to the bacon—but I'd decided the night before that I was going to take the first part of my holiday off. Until dinner, I was free to do as I liked. And that should absolutely include extra sleep.

So instead of studying, I had a late lunch by myself in the Great Hall (the headmistress was the only other person eating, but I sat as far away from her as I could in case she decided to talk to me) and then went for a long walk around the grounds. It was still chilly, and the ground was damp because it had rained overnight, but it felt good to move around. I felt like I had been spending months sitting in the library.

By the time evening fell, I was more than ready to get back to studying. I took my earliest set of notes to the Great Hall to start revising and spread them out in front of me. They were on the basics for NEWTs—ingredient lists, general brewing, and preparatory theory—and I was pleasantly surprised to see how well I still remembered the information. Of course I'd been using it all term, but it was a confidence builder to be able to read _Porcupine quills, powdered_, and immediately think—without having to look—that they were best stored in dim light, that they should be kept out of water, and that they were most effective if added to simmering, not boiling, liquids. I also knew that they were most popular in healing potions, especially elementary healing potions, and that they could cause allergic reactions in some patients, usually resulting in hives. It wasn't likely that the NEWTs would have an entire section on porcupine quills, but if they did, I was completely prepared.

"Hey," asked a voice as I was moving on to _Dragon scales, crushed_. "Mind if I sit with you? Only there's no one else and I didn't bring anything to read."

The voice belonged to Rockwell, a Gryffindor in my Ethics class. She was a year behind me and I'd never learned her first name. I flashed her a smile anyway and moved my notes over so she could sit down.

"Are you all by yourself too?" she asked next. "Everyone else from Gryffindor left, practically. There's like three seventh years and a sixth year but they're all boys and I think they've snuck out anyway. I was supposed to go home too but my mum and stepdad cancelled at the last minute because they're going to the south of France for a month. Isn't that unfair? They could have asked me to come but I guess they thought I would be in the way. And then it was too late to ask Brittany if I could go home with her instead."

I nodded. "That sucks," I offered. I couldn't quite tell if she was really upset at being left all alone or if she was just making conversation.

"I just don't see why they couldn't at least have come to see me! They weren't home all Christmas, you know," she said, attacking her potatoes with vigor. "It's like they don't even want me."

Really upset, I decided. But it wasn't like her situation was uncommon—Hogwarts was filled with war orphans, which meant a lot of weird family situations. And not all of those worked out well. I wondered what it had been like before the war—had the school totally cleared out for holidays? "I think you'll have more fun here anyway," I said. "You can sleep in and everything. It'll be like regular school but without all the annoying parts."

"Yeah, I guess," she said, not sounding very convinced. I took another bite of my chicken and glanced over my next page of notes. Maybe Easter hols would go quickly if I was just doing potions the whole time.

"Are you doing homework?" Rockwell asked next. "I should be too. We have all that reading for Ethics and I'm so bad at Transfiguration that Fawcett gave me extra work. She says if I don't get better at it she's going to have to owl Mum."

"Oh," I said. I couldn't think of anything to say beyond that; it was a little weird that she was telling me to start with. "Is it a lot of extra work?"

"Yeah," she said, sighing. "But whatever. Um, do you want to do the reading together? Like go into Hogsmeade and do it or something?"

"Sure," I said. "Um, is tomorrow okay? After lunch maybe?"

"Yeah, okay," she said. "Meet you at the Three Broomsticks at two?"

"Okay," I said. After that, conversation stalled, and I went back to my notes. NEWTs were only two months away, after all, and I wanted an O.

OOOOO

I spent the rest of the night curled up in a chair in the Slytherin common room, paging through notes and drilling facts into my head. I took a break for a long bath, and then another one to raid Alicia's stash of Honeydukes'.

In the morning, I woke up early enough to get breakfast. The rest of the Great Hall was empty, so I had the whole table—and all the bacon—to myself. I was still revising, although I had slowed my pace a little; the more I went through the material the more sure I was that I was going to ace my NEWTs and astonish everyone and completely wow Snape. It helped, of course, that potions was such a structured magic; everything built on everything else, so that if you learned something in September you kept using it until June. If it had been Charms, where each type of spell was a distinct unit, I'd have been screwed.

Of course, if it had been Charms I wouldn't be studying for the NEWTs, because Charms was kind of a stupid subject and didn't really need that much attention.

I spent the rest of the morning lying on the couch in the Slytherin common room, drinking some tea I'd nicked from the kitchens and explaining the basics of stirring theory to the portraits on the wall. Most of them didn't pay much attention, but there was one portrait of an elderly witch from the time of, like, Shakespeare who seemed interested in new developments. "You explain things very well," she said when I'd finished. "I especially like the algorithms for counter-clockwise stirring. Of course we used to use a frog."

"A…a frog?" I asked. I certainly hadn't come across that in my reading.

"Oh, yes, frogs were all the rage then," she said. "Every halfway decent potioneer owned a few. You dumped them into the cauldron and they swam around and stirred it for you. You had to be careful, of course. The wrong frog in the wrong potion could get everyone killed. But they developed a bit of a sense for it after a while. Although I did know a few witches whose frogs went a bit off. They all wound up haunting the moors. Very tragic business."

I opened my mouth to say something and then shut it again. Then I changed my mind and said, "Really? Like really, seriously, you used frogs to stir potions? And that worked?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "You should try it sometime. Let me know if it's as good as these newfangled self-stirring cauldrons. Really takes the art out of it…"

"Right," I said. "Well if I get a chance to try it I will definitely let you know."

I was tempted to stay and ask her more about her brewing techniques—had she maybe used turtle shells for cauldrons? Did they actually take the wings off of the bats, or did they just throw a couple of them in and let them flap around?—but I'd told Rockwell I would do the Ethics reading with her, and I had just enough time to make it to the Three Broomsticks. It was a little weird to be studying with someone who was a year behind me as well as a Gryffindor, but it would break up the monotony of working by myself all week.

I grabbed the next set of potions notes as well as _A Hundred and One Wizarding Dilemmas _and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, found my cloak in case it started to rain, and headed out toward the Three Broomsticks.

It wasn't a terribly long walk into Hogsmeade, and because the weather had turned chilly again, I didn't enjoy it much. By the time I got to the Three Broomsticks I was starting to shiver (so much for spring) and I was even glad to see Rockwell, who seemed to have already claimed a table by the window. When I got inside and took a seat, I realized she'd ordered me a Butterbeer as well.

"I, um, I hope you like them?" she said. She sounded nervous, and I realized with some surprised that she was actually intimidated by me. I couldn't tell if that was because I was gay, or because I was a Slytherin, or just because I was older and presumably worldlier. Maybe it was a mixture of all three.

"Yeah, I do, thanks. Have you started any of the reading?" I took a sip of my drink and dug out my books. "It's, what, a chapter in _Dark Arts_ and two feet on some of the dilemmas?"

Rockwell nodded. "Chapter ten. And the dilemmas are, um, fifteen and ninety-two."

I flipped open my book. Chapter ten was like fifty pages long. Well, at least there was butterbeer. "The Underground Spread of Dark Curses Through Social Channels, wow, that sounds brilliant."

"Yeah, and the dilemmas aren't much better."

I opened that book as well. I was always half worried that the dilemma we were assigned would be something like _What if one of your friends has been disowned by her parents and is living in an inn, but she doesn't want you to say anything? _If we talked about it in class, Professor Trent would no doubt say that anyone in that position would be duty-bound to tell a grownup, and there would go Lyra's resolve to trust me on this. But these two dilemmas, like all the rest, were strictly Dark Arts related: what to do if you overheard some wizards talking about doing magic in front of Muggles (tell on them) and when it was appropriate for a non-Ministry witch or wizard to perform a memory charm on a Muggle (never). Honestly, the only trouble was going to be getting two feet out of them; they were both so obvious.

We started working quietly; Rockwell tackled the reading and I looked at the dilemmas. I could see pretty quickly that she was a slow worker, but I wasn't sure if that was because she was naturally slow at this kind of thing or if it was because she kept wanting to talk. In the time it took me to write a foot and a half on the reasons for the Statute of Secrecy, I learned that Rockwell's parents frequently went places without her; that this bothered her even though by now she wasn't even surprised; and that she didn't understand why they went anywhere at all, since the few times she'd gone with them she'd found it unaccountably boring. I mm'ed and nodded in the right places, but I wasn't really listening.

Instead, I thought about the fact that today I had decided when to get up, what to do after breakfast, and whether to meet Rockwell at the Three Broomsticks instead of the library or the Quidditch pitch or not at all. I'd spent all this time angry with my parents for leaving me, and worried that Harry would do the same (or might even bring me back to them), but I hadn't thought before that maybe it was better this way. Sure, it was lonely and hurtful being on my own like this, but the payoff was that I got to do what I wanted. If I'd gone home that first summer, would I have spent it all shopping with my mother and gardening with my father instead of working at potions? If I hadn't had that drive to impress Professor Snape, would I be sitting my NEWTs in June?

Even if I knew that Harry wouldn't be angry with me if he found out everything—even if I knew he wouldn't make me go back to my parents, or even owl them—even if no one was going to treat me like a poor cast-off relative—would it be worth losing the freedom I had at the Leaky Cauldron in the summers and Hogwarts during Christmas and Easter? What if I went to live with Harry, and I had to ask Ginny before I went out, or let Harry know if I needed money for books?

"I mean, it's not even like I _wanted_ to go with them," Rockwell was saying. "But they could have asked."

"Yeah, totally," I said absently. If I turned into the sort of normal girl who had a house and parents and family dinners and trips over holidays, would I also turn into the kind of normal girl who complained about being left out of trips she didn't even want to go on instead of studying potions and exploring the dodgier ends of wizarding London by herself? It didn't seem worth it.

OOOOOOOO

A/N: Back! With thanks as always to Ill Ame, my brilliant beta, and to the readers and reviewers who have been keeping up with this story even with my sporadic updates. You guys have no idea how much it means to me-I wouldn't be updating without you, and I want to thank you all. I never thought a post-series femslash epic starring two original characters would ever get this many readers.

This was a nice quiet chapter, and we'll probably get another nice quiet chapter before the excitement that the NEWTs and the summer will bring-we'll be seeing plenty of Teddy and a bit more of Harry, and I am so looking forward to it!


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